


Finding Home

by Gabrielle Lawson (Inheildi), Philippe de la Matraque (Inheildi)



Series: Alien Us & Finding Home [2]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Healing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 61,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inheildi/pseuds/Gabrielle%20Lawson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inheildi/pseuds/Philippe%20de%20la%20Matraque
Summary: Sequel to Alien Us.  Malcolm Reed barely survived to be reunited with Hoshi Sato.  But things have taken a downturn and now he needs a new heart and a way to heal.
Relationships: Malcolm Reed/Hoshi Sato
Series: Alien Us & Finding Home [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1763488
Comments: 50
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I have been thinking of this sequel since 2014 when I finished _Alien Us_. It took awhile for me to find the beginning. I'd write something then cross it out, write again, cross it out. I think I've got enough of a handle on the beginning now that I can post this, the first chapter. 

Historian's Note:   
Set somewhere immediately after the events of _Alien Us_. 

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters--well, except the original ones. The series isn't mine, but the setting is--well, when they're not on Enterprise. The situation, on the other hand, is all mine. 

Book Cover credit goes to [ Smthingwicked from Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/SmthingWicked). 

  
  
**Sequel to _Alien Us_**

**Prologue**

_**Six months in the past**_

_"Why me?" the young woman asked the camera. "I'm sure many people have asked that over the centuries. But why? I'm young. I'm healthy. Or I thought I was." She looked away as she fought back tears. "I had headaches. That's all I thought they were. Lots of people got them when they worked in the wasteland the Xindi left. Only now, all construction there as stopped. Because I'm not the only one."_

_She rubbed her hands over her eyes. "I can't just talk to a computer, so I'm going to talk to you, Malcolm." She dried her eyes and then started gain. "I was doing well, you know, in my career. I finally got to take the lead on a new housing block in the Reclamation Area. Everyone wanted to put the Xindi attack behind us, after an appropriate memorial, of course._

_"It was going to be grand, but tasteful, of course. I thought the headaches and the dizziness were just from long days at the drawing table. It was only when Sarah Farmer, my boss, called me in to talk about my designs that I began to doubt. I hadn't seen them but there were egregious mistakes. Important supports were missing, no passage between floors, doors that led nowhere. It would have collapsed had we built it. She knew this wasn't like my previous work. She suggested I see a doctor."_

_She took a moment and sighed. "It has something to do with the Reclamation Area, the Xindi weapon. There's something still there, in the soil, or maybe in the air. Apparently it causes a new kind of brain tumor." That set her crying again. She paused the recording. After she composed herself, she started it again. "It's not cancer as we know it. It's more insidious than that. No other illnesses have been found. Just these tumors in hundreds of people who were just trying to make that area beautiful again._

_They don't want us to despair, but so far, none of the usual cancer treatments are working. They're going back to basics, they said. Ten volunteers took radiation treatments. Then others took chemotherapy from the twenty-first century. In both groups, the tumors grew faster. A third of the patients died. So it's a little hard to not despair. Sarah said she'd build my building, correctly, somewhere else, make sure I got credit as the lead architect. I hope I can live long enough to see it. And to see you, brother of mine. I miss you. Maybe I'll try and give you a ring."_

**Chapter One**

Malcolm Reed just thought he'd gotten caught up in the sight and nearness of Hoshi. He had loved her for a year without seeing her at all. She had been a voice in his head. The idea that they'd ever see each other again, ever hold hands, was beyond them then. Yet here she was, resting her head on his shoulder as they looked out at the stars streaking by. He'd never felt love on this scale before. 

The streaks began to blur. Was that love? He looked at the empty dishes on the table. They were blurry, too. Maybe the light-headedness he felt wasn't love. There was a tightness building in his chest. The monitor on the back of the wheelchair began to beep, and he couldn't feel the ache in his left wrist. "Malcolm?" her voice in his mind was clear, and alarmed. 

_I want to live,_ he thought back to her. The chair moved backward but he couldn't' hold himself up. He began to fall forward. Strong hands held him. He heard fuzzy sounds behind him. Then everything went black. 

* * *

Hoshi watched in horror as the medic laid Malcolm on the floor and began chest compressions. Was it the waffles? Was it leaving Sickbay? Had they just killed him for a date? Her legs wouldn't hold her anymore. She crumpled to the ground beside Malcolm's legs, too afraid to get in the way of the medic. Sobs rushed out of her. She couldn't lose him now! 

Doctor Phlox came and Malcolm was put on an anti-grav gurney. Then he was gone. She couldn't follow. She couldn't get her legs to lift her from the floor. She couldn't move, couldn't think beyond that one thought: She couldn't lose him now. Not now! 

Then the captain was kneeling in front of her. He lifted her up and got her moving. His strong arms held her up, kept her from melting into the deck the whole way back to Sickbay. By the time they reached it, Malcolm was resting back on the bed he'd left little more than an hour before. His eyes were closed, but his chest rose and fell regularly. Trip was standing by the bed. 

Phlox approached them. "He's stable for now." He looked her over. "Are you hurt, Hoshi?" 

The sobs had left, but the tears had not. She shook her head. She wanted to be beside him. The captain must have understood because he led her to the chair beside Malcolm's bed. He left her there then pulled Trip away to give her space. 

* * *

Trip met Phlox and the captain at the other side of the room. "What happened?" 

Phlox was very direct. "He had a cardiac infarction." 

A heart attack? Trip relaxed a bit. Heart attacks were treatable. Heart disease was curable now. Malcolm could get through this. 

Phlox wasn't finished. "Lieutenant Reed's heart isn't going to get better. It has endured an incredible amount of stress and abuse. It just can't work as efficiently as he needs it to. I think the best course of action for him is a transplant." 

That hit Trip like an anvil to the chest. Malcolm had survived. Beyond all expectations, he had survived. It seemed wrong somehow that his own body could kill him now. "What can we do? How can we help, here?" Trip asked. 

"We could try to construct an artificial heart," Phlox said, "or we can send him back to Earth for a real heart, and maybe more than that." 

"What do you mean?" the captain asked. 

"Nerves, for one," Phlox replied. "With the right donor or donors, he might regain full motion of his hands and ankles. His bones could be strengthened. His sternum has been cut or cracked repeatedly. When he was brought in, it was cracked and compressing his chest cavity. And that still doesn't touch the sheer trauma of it all. He can't fully recover here." 

Trip wanted to sit down himself. He looked over at Hoshi and Malcolm. Malcolm's arm moved. She took his hand. He was awake. 

"Ah," said Phlox. "We needn't rush into anything just yet. I can keep him stable here for now." He left them and returned to his patient. Trip watched from where he was with the captain. 

"Lieutenant," Phlox said to Malcolm. "I need to understand your wishes should life support become necessary." 

Trip couldn't hear Malcolm's reply, but he was glad Phlox had asked. He didn't want a decision like that left up to Malcolm's parents again. 

"Even if it means tubes and machines?" Phlox asked to clarify. "It's official then. If it comes to that, Lieutenant, I can induce a coma so you won't be aware." 

The captain moved forward and cleared his throat. "I'm glad that's settled. Malcolm, Hoshi, I need to ask you about Moody. The MACOs would like to hold a memorial service." 

"He deserves a commendation," Hoshi replied, still holding Malcolm's hand. "We wouldn't have survived the crash if he hadn't done what he did. We blew up the shuttle and his body so they wouldn't have them to study." 

The captain nodded. "Could the two of you work up a brief report so I can apply for that commendation?" Malcolm and Hoshi both nodded. 

But a comm signal sounded and T'Pol's voice interrupted any further discussion of the MACO. "Captain, priority communication from Starfleet Command." 

The captain handed Hoshi a PADD. "On my way. I'll take it in my Ready Room." 

"I think I'll meet T'Pol in the science lab," Trip said, and he joined Captain Archer as they left Sickbay. 

"Can he do that with anyone else?" Archer asked him as they entered the turbolift. 

"Nope." Trip shook his head. 

"Has he tried?" 

Trip gave a light smile and nodded. "It's easier than talking." 

Archer considered that briefly. "I guess it would be." 

"Can you ask T'Pol to meet me in the lab?" Trip asked him. "I wanna see if we can come up with any way to help Malcolm here on the ship." 

Archer nodded. Trip got off and headed to the lab while Archer continued to the Bridge. 

* * *

Archer sat down then activated the console to reveal the admiral who had called. "Captain Archer. Good to see you. I'm sending you coordinates. How fast can _Enterprise_ reach them?" 

Archer clicked over to the coordinates and let the computer give him an estimate. "Four weeks at maximum warp. What's there, Admiral?" 

"An important first contact mission we hope. Potential allies if we're lucky. Powerful adversaries if we're not careful. This is a top secret mission. Keep it quiet for now but get there as soon as you can. One more thing. Seems your Tactical Officer made a stir with Starfleet R&D. They'd like him to personally come and present his work on the stable force-field he put together a few years back. We can send a ship to intercept and ferry him back to Earth." 

Archer sighed. "He may need to go back to Earth but he's in no condition to present anything to R&D. He and Ensign Sato were recently in a rather unique shuttle crash. He's in critical condition. Dr. Phlox believes he needs a heart transplant." 

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'll let Starfleet Medical know to expect him. What about your Chief Engineer? Does he understand the tech well enough to brief R&D in the lieutenant's stead?" 

"I'm sure he does," Archer replied. He was glad Malcolm would be well taken care of. 

"I hope Ensign Sato fared better. Her skills will be vital on this mission, Jon." 

Archer sighed again. "In short, that shuttle crashed a year before it left this ship. It's complicated but that year was extremely traumatic for both of them. She's recovering physically but some time on Earth with her family would be invaluable for her." 

"I wish we had the luxury," the Admiral replied. "And I'll personally make sure she gets that time once the mission is complete. If only all our communications officers had her genius, I wouldn't insist. I don't know of anyone else who can learn an alien language in the span of a few hours." 

Archer did not relish telling Hoshi that she would be separated from Malcolm again. Malcolm wouldn't like it either. 

"I'll send the intercept coordinates once I've found a ship—one with expert medical personnel on board—to collect Lt. Reed and Commander Tucker. Once R&D is done with the commander, we'll get him back to you. Have your doctor confer with Medical on what the lieutenant needs. Godspeed, Captain." 

The line went dark. Archer felt this was the best outcome for Malcolm except that he'd had Hoshi literally in his head with him for nearly a year. Would his telepathy—it was still very odd to think of Malcolm that way—reach past the light-years between them? Or would he be lost in that silence? Would she? Hoshi had tried to commit suicide when she'd thought he had died. What would she do when she could no longer hear his voice inside her head? 

For Hoshi, this was perhaps the worst outcome. No Malcolm, no parents, no family beyond her shipmates. Would it be enough to help her heal? Or would they lose her in the end? 

* * *

It had all happened so fast, Hoshi was dizzied and so confused about how she felt. Their first date, together finally, a big bowl of ice cream. Then his heart attack sent her reeling with thoughts of his death—again—and how she couldn't bear it, not now that they had been rescued from Sharu, that he had survived past all expectations. Then relief that he was alive, fear that it wouldn't last, despair that they'd be separated—again—and that she couldn't go with him, couldn't see her parents. Fear for him dealing with his parents. They had broken his heart so many times before. 

She didn't want a mission, not even for new languages. She wanted to be with him, or absent him, to rest, to talk to Phlox, to process what had happened so she could be healthier when they would be reunited again. She deserved that. She'd obeyed her duty on Sharu, never letting them know she could understand, so they would assume she was only as intelligent as their females, so they wouldn't ask her the questions they asked him after drugging him into submission. 

She held his hand in hers as they moved him to the Vulcan ship, stood nearby as they got him set up on life support there. He looked peaceful, sedated as he was. He didn't even know, not yet, that he was going and she was staying. She worried about that. It wouldn't be good to just spring that on him. 

"Wake him up," she told the Vulcan doctor. "Just for a bit. I need to say goodbye. He needs to say goodbye, to understand what is happening." 

The Vulcan simply raised an eyebrow and watched her for a moment. "Sound reasoning," he finally replied, "for an emotional species." He adjusted the amount of sedative, and the tension returned to Malcolm's face. 

* * *

Malcolm's thoughts came in a slow drip rather than a rushing torrent. He tried to turn those slow-moving thoughts to Hoshi, to the image of her face, or the sound of her voice. But the fear and the memories kept invading. He couldn't open his eyes without a lot of effort, but he vaguely felt the tubes, heard the beeps of machines keeping him alive. And that got him lost and confused. Was he safe on _Enterprise_ or back in Zheiren? He didn't want to know; he was afraid of the question. 

" _Enterprise._ Her voice. The answer. "Not Zheiren." Where that voice had been in his head, when it came again, it was in his ear and worth the effort to open his eyes. "But Malcolm, you're leaving _Enterprise_. You're going home to Earth, to heal, to get a new heart." He felt her hand in his. She touched his face. 

There were tears in her eyes. _You're coming?_

She sniffed and stifled a sob. "I can't come with you," she said aloud. "I have to stay." 

His eyes tried to close but he forced them open. _I don't want to go without you. I love you._

"I love you, too," she thought back to him. "Get better, Malcolm. Talk to someone. You can't heal this alone. Not this time." 

There was someone else. A Vulcan he didn't know. The man stopped beside Hoshi. "We'll be embarking in five minutes, Ensign." 

Hoshi squeezed his hand and bent down to kiss his forehead. "Goodbye, Malcolm," she said openly. "Get well and come back to me." Then her hand was gone and she was walking away. 

He watched her, willing his eyes to stay open until he couldn't see her anymore. Maybe they'd get lucky. Maybe he was telepath enough to reach her from Earth. 

The Vulcan spoke to him. "I am Doctor V'Ret. You will be under my care for the duration of the voyage. We shall reach Earth in approximately twenty days by Earth's calendar." 

"Oh, you're awake!" Trip. Malcolm turned his yes to the door and found him. 

"Be brief," V'Ret said. He walked away and Trip took his place. 

Malcolm wanted to speak, to ask him why Hoshi had to stay, but he couldn't form the words. Then he realized the tube wasn't in his neck this time. His fear returned. 

"Everything's gonna get better from here on out, Malcolm," Trip told him. 

Malcolm hoped that was true, but, without Hoshi, he wasn't sure. The gravity in his eyelids won out this time and they closed. He tried to open them again but they refused. 

Trip's voice was muffled and slow. "We'll be home before you know it." Trip. Trip was here. Hoshi was not. And then all was black oblivion. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Star Trek: Enterprise  
Finding Home**  
by Philippe de la Matraque  
Sequel to _Alien Us_

**Chapter Two**

_**Four months in the past**_

_"Mother is bes—be—beside her," Madeline took a breath, then finished her thought, "herself." She had hoped the spell had passed. The spells robbed her of the words to match her thoughts most times. Other times, they muddled those thoughts altogether and only gibberish came out. Mother had witnessed one of those. And then other times, they made her body forget how to move right. Or rather, her brain forgot how to control her body. She might simply freeze or she might shake or she might appear to be seizing._

_This latest spell had been that most common one. She had thoughts. Most made sense to her, but she couldn't find the words for them. She closed her eyes and took four deep breaths. Then she turned back to the camera. "She fusses over me when she visits, and she visits more often. I know it's only because she cares, but it makes me feel like a child again. I don't want to feel like a child again. Not yet anyway. Maybe not ever. I want to be me—grown-up Madeline—for as long as I can._

_"I admit that's a little less every week or so. Mother wants me to move home. I don't. I have a nurse to check on me every day. She gets an alert if something goes wrong, physically. And that's only happened once. I fell. Lost my balance completely. One of my less frequent symptoms."_

_The thoughts and words came easier now. "Our parents call every morning. Probably to see if I'm still breathing. Mother wants me to see another doctor every week, but they all say the same thing. The tumor is growing, branching out, it's killing brain cells, and there's nothing they can do. They don't know how long I have left as they had never seen tumors like these until recovery efforts started in the Zone. They suggest choosing one doctor who can monitor the growth of the tumor over time."_

_She took another breath. "Maybe I should have joined the Navy in your place. Father would have approved though Reed women don't have the obligation the Reed men do. I might have been safer. But that wasn't my dream for me. Architecture was my dream, the way Starfleet was for you._

_"I wanted to build homes for families, grand buildings to bols—bols—bolster the skyline. In my mind, that last one was beautiful and elegant yet practical. But my mind was already affected. I couldn't see the issues."_

_She had to stop or she would cry again. At times like these, she needed happy things so she asked the computer to show her kitten videos. New star systems, new planets, new cultures, and cat videos were still the most popular thing on the net on Earth._

_She particularly liked the ones where they were playing. She figured five-week-olds were the cutest. Their proportions—bigger heads, little cone-shaped tails, fur sticking out all fuzzy—mixed with their not-quite-adult skills in movement and prey catching just overwhelmed her sometimes. Six and seven-week-olds were still cute. Just not_ as _cute. She wished father had let her and Malcolm keep that one they'd found outside. But Father didn't like pets. Cats were only good for catching mice, and there were no mice to catch in their home._

_Cats were also good for snuggling and playing and purring. But what Father said was law growing up. And that thought reminded her of Malcolm. Father had been unbending with Malcolm. Ever since the incident, anyway. Before that, Malcolm was a happy big brother, basking in Father's affection and guidance. He could swim like a fish, Mother had told her friends. By ten, he could name every kind of ship and all their specs. He was headed straight for the Navy._

_After the incident, he changed. Father changed, and Mother always went where Father led. Maddie was too young back then but she eventually learned about post-traumatic stress disorder and therapy. She appreciated the therapist she spoke to every week, especially now. Malcolm was never given the chance at it. He was never the same._

_"Computer, continue journal entry." The computer beeped in response._

_"I know you have always hoped that Father would finally relent. That you could gain his approval and affection again. But our father is nothing if not rigid. Starfleet is not the Navy. Your fear of water is a character flaw, something to overcome. It didn't matter that you helped to save the world from the Xindi superweapon. No matter your decorations. No matter any of it, because it wasn't the Navy._

_"Make no mistake, brother._ I _am proud of you._ I _approved of your choice to serve in Starfleet. I have proudly told my friends and colleagues that my—my—my brother played a large part—and maybe I even exager—er—rate—rated—in saving the planet. You, big brother, matter to me. More so now that I am coming to grips with my mortality. I was hoping to see you make captain someday. I think you will. I just won't get to see it._

_"Well. " She rolled her eyes, "Mother's at the door. End recording."_

* * *

Hoshi lay on her bed crying. Her quarters were too quiet. Her mind was too quiet in the way that mattered most and too noisy in ways she didn't want. She was back in Buftanis, separated from Malcolm by a hemisphere. He was dying in a desert, and she was sitting in the snow waiting to freeze to death. 

Her door chimed and she didn't move to answer it. It opened anyway and Phlox stepped in. "Hoshi, I can see that you're upset. Would you care to talk to me?" 

Hoshi took a shaky breath and sighed it out again. Then she sat up. "I can't hear him." 

He came toward her. "He's unconscious," Phlox reminded her, "and perhaps too far away." 

"I know, but it's too quiet." 

"You're used to having him with you." Phlox sat on the edge of the bed beside her. "He had that gift for most of the year." 

She sniffed and nodded. "I think I loved him before that," she told him. "Like I could look back and see all these times when he was good to me even before the crash. Years back. When that telepath contacted me, he took me seriously even when there was no evidence. After the Reptilians, he tried to keep the captain from pushing me too hard." 

"It is possible he could look back too and find he loved you then." 

That made her smile. But she sniffed. "What if it's all just the trauma we went through together? What if he gets better and finds he doesn't love me anymore?" 

"Think of this last year in that light," Phlox suggested. "Does that ring true? Do you think if you heal enough, you will find you don't love him?" 

"It wouldn't hurt this much if it weren't real," she answered after a few minutes. 

"I have found that love can be very pleasant," he told her, "and equally as painful. Can we talk about why you tried to commit suicide?" 

"You worried I might again?" She looked over at him but he kept his expression even. "He was dying," she explained. "We didn't know _Enterprise_ was coming. We gave up on that. There was no future there, except as a slave and a science project. I had nothing to live for except him." 

Phlox nodded. "And now?" 

"Now I know he's gone to Earth to get better. I can imagine a future for us." 

"With any surgery, there is risk," he suggested. "If the worst should happen?" 

"I don't even want to think of that," she sobbed and turned away. There was a deep ache in her chest. She turned back. "But even then, I have my family. I have a future." 

"I'm glad to hear it." Phlox laid a hand on her shoulder. "Would you like to talk about what happened on Sharu?" 

Hoshi had told Malcolm that it was important to talk about it. She knew it was. She nodded. "But not yet. It hurts too much today." 

"Physically?" He looked concerned. "Are you unwell?" 

"I don't think it's that," she told him. She felt it was sadness and loneliness and being without Malcolm. 

But Phlox took out his scanner anyway. He waved it over her briefly then snapped it closed again. "Emotional distress can have a physical component. But try and let me know if something distinctly physical should ail you." 

Hoshi nodded. Then she started crying harder. She needed to be held. "Can I have a hug?" she whispered. 

Phlox pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her back. "Of course, you may. You suffered alone—physically alone—for a long time. And I shall do my best, in the lieutenant's absence, to keep the captain from pushing you too hard in this mission." 

It felt good to have another person's touch, but it still hurt. So she let herself hug him back and cry some more. She decided she'd work as hard as she could, then maybe they could finish this mission quickly and get back to Malcolm. 

* * *

It was mostly a boring trip for Commander Charles Tucker III. The Vulcans on this ship were particularly rigid. T'Pol had softened somewhat during her years on _Enterprise_ with a crew almost completely human. V'Ret was the worst. Trip could hardly even look in on Malcolm. He was sedated so V'Ret saw no logical reason for Trip to be there. Malcolm had no need of him. 

Well, he needed Malcolm. So he waited until V'Ret was off-duty and went and sat with Malcolm for an hour or two each night, telling him about his day. It didn't matter so much that Malcolm couldn't hear him. He would have just been bored as well anyway. 

Trip didn't particularly know how to read the displays around Malcolm. But no alarms were blaring, so it seemed he was doing as well as possible. Seeing him like that, though, brought back memories of him when he had just been rescued and had very nearly died. He sincerely hoped Starfleet Medical would find a heart for Malcolm before he himself had to rejoin _Enterprise_. Malcolm didn't need to wake up alone on the other side of that, and Trip didn't think he could be effective in his duty wondering when his best friend would get his new chance at life. He kind of felt guilty for that. Someone would have to die for a heart to become available. 

Sometimes, Trip called home to check in with his folks. He told his mom some about Malcolm. She was always the one he felt he could talk to about anything, but he didn't want to give too much of Malcolm's story away. Malcolm wouldn't appreciate that. But he could tell her that he was worried about his friend, that his friend was in really bad condition. 

The rest of the time, he studied Malcolm's report on the stable force field. Trip remembered why Malcolm had improved on Starfleet's designs. He and the captain had been trapped by a web-like being. The force field kept it from spreading or capturing any more people while Hoshi and T'Pol worked out how to communicate with it. Malcolm would never call himself an engineer, and Trip would never tell him so, but he was smart and skilled enough to be one. Malcolm was very intelligent for a guy who loved to blow stuff up. 

It also reminded Trip that he had had a spell of telepathy while trapped in that web. And that was trippy, to say the least. The captain and he could think one another's thoughts. But Malcolm and Hoshi seemed to do it differently. They communicated, told each other stories. The captain hadn't had to tell him a thought for Trip to know it. He'd love to ask Malcolm about it, but that wouldn't be possible for a while at least. Not on this trip, certainly. Maybe after he got that new heart and began to recover. 

He was surprised when a crewman came to find him to tell him he had a communications packet from _Enterprise_. _Enterprise_ would have gone silent an hour before. Trip told the crewman he'd take it in his quarters and quickly made his way back there. Once the door had closed behind him, he activated the computer and pulled up the packet. 

It was a message from Hoshi. It had been sent out just over an hour before, encrypted and attached to a sensor log of Malcolm tweaking that force field in his Armory years ago. It took five minutes to decrypt—he was working on a Vulcan computer after all—so Trip watched the sensor log, impressed at how Malcolm decided the necessary changes. His engineering professors back at the academy would have approved. Finally, the message was decrypted. 

Hoshi looked worried. And like she'd been crying. "Trip," she said. "I forgot to tell you something. Something important. As Malcolm starts to heal, they may send him home to recuperate. I don't think that is good for him. I worry about his parents. He never said they were abusive, but what he did say, well, something happened when he was twelve. It left him aquaphobic. That changed everything between him and his father. If his parents don't seem right to you, don't leave him with them. Don't leave him where he can't heal. Hoshi out." The screen went dark. 

It made sense. Especially with Malcolm. It would be best if he could leave the hospital environment as soon as possible. He'd be transferred to the care of a hospital closer to his family and receive home health care. 

Trip had felt like they were too hasty to take him off life support. Had they just wanted to end his suffering, or was it something more? He decided to call his mom. "Sorry if I woke you," he told her. 

"I don't sleep as much as I used to," she replied. "Has something happened to your friend?" 

"No, no change in his condition, but a mutual friend called to say I should be careful about his parents. I don't like them, Mom. I've never even spoken to them, though, so maybe I'm judging them wrong." 

"What don't you like about them?" She was off-screen but he could hear her pouring boiling water. She came back with a mug of tea. "Decaff. I'm still hoping to sleep a little tonight." 

Trip felt terrible about that. She'd been having trouble sleeping since the Xindi attack. "Well, early on, the captain spoke to them, trying to find out what Malcolm's favorite food so he could surprise him for his birthday. They didn't know. And he hadn't spoken to them in two years. They didn't even know what post he had on what ship. Captain said they seemed disinterested and kind of cold. Then I hear Malcolm talk about his father from time to time, hoping he'll be proud of him but kind of like he knew he wouldn't. And then, when we found him and had him on life support…." He stopped to take a breath as the memory of Malcolm not breathing in the cell ship rushed into focus. "We weren't sure he'd pull through. His parents said to pull the plug. Not in those words, but they didn't even want to see him. Phlox said it didn't sit right with him but that it could simply be their way of grieving." 

"But he didn't die," his mother said, drawing her eyebrows in confusion. "He's on the ship with you." 

"Right," Trip told her. "He just didn't die. He woke up. Captain called his parents back to tell them the news. They were miffed, thinking we'd gone behind their backs. They still didn't want to talk to Malcolm." 

"What more did you learn from this mutual friend?" she asked, sipping her tea. 

"She said something happened when Malcolm was twelve and it changed his relationship with his father. She was worried about leaving him with them to recuperate." 

"Well, it does seem odd that they wouldn't know his favorite food," she decided. "Even from before he was twelve. You loved peanut butter and jelly sandwiches since you were five." 

"Exactly!" Trip agreed, but he felt he should offer a counterpoint. "But his dad is all Navy, retired admiral. Maybe he just ran a tight ship, ya know. Eat what's in front of you and that's that." 

"Could be," she said. "And it also could be that they wanted to alleviate his suffering, though again, I find it odd they didn't want to see him, before or after. If you were parked on death's door or just backed out of that particular driveway, no admiral would dare get in my way of talking to you. There could be something there. Maybe it's where all his secrecy started. Parents weren't interested in his life, so he thought no one else would be. Hide it. Why would they support him now if they didn't then? But then, he's British, right. Maybe they just don't show their concern, you know, stiff upper lip and all. Give them the benefit of the doubt, but don't dismiss your gut. Hopefully, they'll come to see him in the hospital. Try to be there when they do. Then decide if your gut was right." 

Trip nodded and yawned. On the screen, his mother yawned, too.. "Did I bore you?" 

Trip chuckled. "Naw. Nothing much to do on this Vulcan ship. Been bored most of the day. But you yawned, too. Maybe you should try sleeping again. I love you, Mom." 

"I love you, too, Trip. Try and carve out an hour or two for your father and I when you get home, will you?" 

"You got it. Should be there in two weeks' time." 

"Goodnight, Sweetheart." The screen went dark. Twelve. What had Malcolm missed out on from twelve on? He wondered what had happened and what exactly had changed. 

* * *

Madeline Reed paced her living room. It had been two weeks since her parents had informed her that Malcolm hadn't died as expected. She'd taken the news stoically for their benefit. But she was greatly relieved. It had just seemed wrong that Malcolm would die before her. She had to die. She had no say in it. The Xindi's prototype weapon was still destroying lives like hers years after it had cut a wide swath into the planet. 

She stopped suddenly and stood still. Pain had flared in her head, and stole away her thoughts. Her brain was no longer telling her legs to move. Her knees buckled and she crumpled slowly to the floor. 

She had no sense of time but when the pain subsided and her thoughts returned, she was surprised to be laying on her side on the floor. The device on her wrist changed from orange to yellow and back to green. She knew it was safe then, to get back up. 

Her computer chimed to let her know someone was calling. She went over to it and pushed the button to answer. 

"Madeline, it's Darlene. Can you tell me what happened?" 

Darlene. She always introduced herself like that, just in case Madeline had trouble remembering. It took a moment to place her as her brain woke up fully. Yes, her nurse. The memories came back. "I was thinking about my brother. Then I guess I had a spell. I woke up on the floor." 

"Are you hurt from the fall?" 

Madeline took stock. She'd been on her left side. No pain in her leg or hip. None in her shoulder. "No, I think I'm fine. I'm green again, see?" She held up the device on her wrist. 

"That's good. Have you thought about calling your brother?" 

That scared Madeline. "What if I go red while we're talking? I don't want him to worry about me right now. He nearly died." 

"You normally stay green for at least an hour after a spell. If you call him now, you should be fine." 

She was still scared. "I've never called him on his ship." 

"I'm sure he'd love to see a loving face right now. And I'm also sure he's not real busy if he almost died." 

Why hadn't she never called? She was an adult, no longer under her parent's strict rules of discipline. "You're right. Of course. Thank you, Darlene." 

"You're welcome. I'll pop over in a couple of hours for your dinner. Keep an eye on your wrist. It should show you when you change from green so you have a little warning to get somewhere safe." 

The screen flipped. She'd never been thinking to look at the device before a spell hit. It just hit. The device was new. It was synchronized with a small chip near the base of her skull. The chip sent out information about her brain's functioning. Darlene and her doctor received detailed notes. Madeline got a color-coded indication of her ability to think and move. Green was full cognition. Yellow meant she had a hard time thinking her thoughts. In between, yellow-green, was when she had those thoughts but couldn't find the words for them. Between yellow and orange, she could potentially talk but not make any sense at all. Orange meant she couldn't move right. That's when she might shake but stay awake. Between orange and red, she might freeze up entirely but still be awake. She had no thoughts in red. But her autonomic functions still worked. She breathed, she blinked. But as that red went dark toward black, it got dangerous. Everything stopped at black. Too long at black and she'd be dead. 

Darlene hadn't said which color this last spell had been but Madeline suspected red. Probably not black. She woke up after all. She didn't remember anything she was doing beyond thinking of Malcolm before she woke up on the floor. 

Well, the device was green now, so she put in a call to _Enterprise._ She expected the Asian communications officer to answer, instead she saw an older man, an admiral. "Miss Reed, how may I help you?" 

"I'm sorry. I must have made a mistake." She checked the device again just to be sure. Still green. 

"You called _Enterprise_ ," he said. "I'm sorry but she's on a very important mission and can't take communications at this time. Perhaps I can help you." 

So it wasn't her. Good. "I wanted to speak to my brother. Lt. Malcolm Reed. He's been hurt." 

"Ah yes," the admiral said. "I don't know much about his condition but I do know he's en route to Earth. I can put you through to the ship he's coming in on though, if you like." 

"He's coming here?" she asked. That had to be very bad. "Yes, please." 

The screen changed to a Starfleet emblem and then to a Vulcan one that changed to a Vulcan man's face. "I am Dr. V'Ret. How can I be of service?" 

A doctor. Good, he'd know about Malcolm. "My name is Madeline Reed. Lt. Malcolm Reed is my brother. I was told he was on your ship, headed to Earth." 

"That is true," the doctor replied. "He is sedated and will remain so for the remainder of this journey." 

"What happened? He hadn't died." She began to worry very deeply. 

"He suffered a cardiac infarction. His heart cannot be healed and is in danger of failing. It was determined he would be best treated with a heart transplant. As he finds it distressing to be connected to tubes and wires, we are keeping him under sedation." 

Maldeline started to cry which must have flustered the doctor. "Perhaps you would feel more comfortable talking to his human companion, Commander Tucker." 

Madeline wiped her eyes and nodded. The screen went back to a Vulcan emblem, then a light brown-haired man's face. He rubbed his eyes. "Can I help you?" he asked. 

"I'm Madeline. Malcolm's sister." 

He sat us straighter and blinked himself awake. "Madeline, uh, hi. I'm Trip. I'm his friend." 

Madeline smiled through her tears. "I'm glad he has you with him. How is he, really?" 

Trip sighed. "It's not good. But he's gonna be alright if he gets a new heart." 

She was tired of the mystery. Her parents hadn't said what was wrong with Malcolm. Maybe they never even asked. "My parents told me he was dying and then that he wasn't. What happened to him?" 

"Maybe it would be better if you ask him, back on Earth." 

She hesitated. Would she be around long enough to ask Malcolm? Would she be in a state to do so? "I'm sick myself. I'm not sure they'll let me see him. You don't have to give me all the details." 

"I'm sorry to hear that. I hope it's nothing serious," Trip said. He seemed like a nice person. "He was in a shuttle that crashed into a pre-warp planet. It's complicated but it, uh, crashed a year in the past. The scientists on the planet found him. They'd never seen a human before. They, well, studied him. Invasively. Did experiments on him. Things got real bad by the time time caught up with him. We got him out but he was in real bad shape." 

Madeline was shocked. A whole year where his ship couldn't find him. In the past. She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. She'd been feeling sorry for herself for six months. He was being 'invasively' studied at the time. 

"Hey, don't cry," Trip told her. "He's gonna get better. I'm sure he'd like to see you while he's home on Earth. We should be there in twelve days. He won't be much for conversation until after he gets that heart, but he'll need people who care about him. Seems like you do." 

Madeline nodded. "I do. Very much. He's my big brother. Was he alone all that year?" 

"Well, no," Trip answered, looking a little uncomfortable. "Our communications officer, Hoshi Sato, crashed with him. They, uh, got kind of close down there." 

"I remember her," Madeline told him. "I talked to her years ago. How is she?" 

"Well, physically, she's better than him. But she had a rough time, too." 

Madeline rubbed her eyes. "Thank you for being honest with me. Is she coming home, too?" 

Trip shook his head. "Should be but _Enterprise_ needs her for their mission. I'll be there with him for a few weeks, then they'll ferry me back to _Enterprise_." 

Madeline had a lot more questions but she could see he was tired. And her device was changing color, fading toward yellow. "Maybe we can have tea while you're here," she suggested. "I'll let you get back to sleep, Commander. Good night." 

"Goodnight," he returned. "And Madeline, it was nice to meet you." 

She smiled then stopped the transmission. The device was definitely showing yellow. She had a lot to think about but she couldn't trust those thoughts. So she grabbed a PADD and jotted notes, questions, ideas just in case she forgot, hoping she could make sense of them when she was green again. 

* * *

Darlene let herself in when Madeline didn't answer the door. It had only been forty minutes but Madeline had gone orange again. It had been a deep orange-red when she had fallen earlier. Darlene found Madeline safely lying on her sofa. Her eyes were open and blinking. She had a PADD clutched in one hand. She didn't respond though, and when Darlene turned over her wrist, she was met with a very red display. 

Darlene checked Madeline's vitals. She was breathing properly; her pulse was strong and even. She would just have to wait it out. It had taken ten minutes just to get to the apartment. She could see Madeline's eyes were wet, her cheeks tear-stained, and her nose runny. Darlene grabbed a tissue and cleaned her up. She lifted the PADD and began to read. 

* * *

"I talked to your sister last night, Malcolm," Trip told him. Malcolm, of course, did not reply, seeing as he was unconscious. "She seems nice enough. She's pretty, too, and worried about you. Maybe your family isn't as bad as I was making them out to be. But maybe you'll have to tell me. I don't want to leave you with them if they won't help you heal." 

"If you must insist on talking to an unconscious man…" V'Ret's voice started him from behind. "…you can at least do something useful." 

Trip turned to face the doctor. "I didn't think you'd be up and about." 

"Ordinarily, I would not," V'Ret admitted. "But Dr. T'Sol was feeling unwell, and it is time to check on our patient." 

"How can I help?" Trip asked. He was a bit surprised V'Ret even suggested it. 

"I will assign you his hands. He is unable to move them. Left alone, the muscles will atrophy and the joints stiffen. Bend and straighten each finger." He demonstrated with one of Malcolm's hands. "Fifteen times each, three times each day." 

Trip nodded and took Malcolm's other hand. "I can do that." Malcolm's wrists were still held in splints, and Trip knew that Malcolm could only move the last two fingers on each hand. Hopefully, that, too, would be fixed on Earth. 

At present, Malcolm was lying on his back. They occasionally rolled him onto one side or other to prevent bed sores. V'Ret untucked one leg from under the sheet and began to bend and straighten it. For all his brusqueness, V'Ret was taking good care of Malcolm, and Trip appreciated that. 

"His injuries would indicate a traumatic incident," V'Ret said, apparently making conversation. "I had not considered that you, too, may have been traumatized by what was done to your friend." 

"Because I'm an emotional human?" Trip asked, being careful to keep his tone conversational. He wasn't trying to accuse the doctor. Rather, he was testing the waters, so to speak. 

"Even Vulcans can suffer traumatic stress," V'Ret replied. 

Trip was aware. "I found him. Me and Lt. Woods. I don't think I'll ever get that image out of my head." 

V'Ret moved to the other leg and Trip to Malcolm's other hand. "You may never. Though with counseling—and your friend's recovery—you may find its power diminishes." 

Trip nodded. V'Ret wasn't so bad after all. "Thank you," Trip offered. "For letting me help." 

"You may visit as often as you need," V'Ret told him as he covered Malcolm's exposed leg again, "so long as you know when to get out of the way." 

"Of course." Trip was quick to agree. V'Ret checked a few details on the screens and, finding them satisfactory, he left the room. 

"Turns out he's a good guy," Trip told Malcolm. 

* * *

Madeline looked at the notes she had made on the PADD the day before. She found it on the kitchen counter. She'd forgotten all about it. Darlene had told her she had been red for at least thirty minutes. She was very concerned. Madeline was as well, but she was also rather pessimistic about the whole thing. There wasn't anything they could do to change it or treat it. And she wasn't going to get any better. 

Darlene had fixed her dinner then sent her to bed to rest. She'd stayed the night. But when Madeline had stayed green right through breakfast, she convinced the nurse to go home and rest herself. 

Some of the notes made no sense to her now, but a few stood out. 'Malcolm vivisected' was one. Trip had said he was invasively studied. That was vivisection. It appalled her. She knew that before medical technology had advanced to view bodies virtually through X-Rays, Cat scans, and MRIs, an alien who found himself on Earth might have had a similar fate. But this was her brother. 

Another note stood out: 'My heart.' Despite her terminal illness, her heart was fine. Only her brain was affected. The note scared her a little, but it also excited her. Her own death had been looming over her for half a year. It had seemed such a waste. Her life was really only getting started. She was realizing her dreams then bam! All that had come to a dismal stop. What would she accomplish but an almost life? She was almost successful, almost a builder of magnificent buildings. 

Her death would mean nothing. She'd be just another statistic, another victim of the Xindi. But this could mean something different. She could make her death mean something. Her body was fine. She could help Malcolm and maybe others. Malcolm needed a heart, and she had one she wouldn't need much longer. Someone else may needed a kidney. She had two good ones. Organ donation had been going on for centuries. She was shocked she hadn't thought of it sooner. 

The part that scared her was the certainty. It came as something of a relief but it also meant she couldn't postpone facing the fact that she was definitely going to die. It was the transition that scared her. The point when she went from being still alive to no longer existing as a person. 

The idea of helping her brother outweighed that fear. That transition was going to happen anyway. Not donating her heart wouldn't change that. But it might mean Malcolm died, too, or had to wait for another heart to become available. He'd suffered longer than she had at this point. He shouldn't be made to suffer longer just because she was scared of the moment of dying. 

The door chimed. She checked to see who it was. Mother was on the other side of the door. Madeline turned off the PADD and tucked it between the arm of the sofa and the cushion, then she opened the door. 

Mother kissed her on the cheek. "How are you today, Madeline dear?" she asked as she set her bag down on the kitchen counter. 

"I feel good today, Mother," Madeline told her. It was half-true, at least. "I tried to call Malcolm last night. I spoke to his friend." 

Mother's lips tightened and she looked away. "How is your brother?" 

"Not good," she replied. Father wasn't here. She wanted to know how far Mother's concern went for her only son. "He said Malcolm had been studied, invasively, after crashing on an alien planet." 

"That sounds unpleasant," Mother said. "You shouldn't focus on such dreadful things. It can't help your depression." 

"He's my brother," Madeline argued. "And I may be depressed, but I'm dying so I have good reason to be." 

"You shouldn't talk that way," Mother replied. "They may find a cure still. Some of the best researchers are trying to find a workable treatment." 

"I was catatonic for thirty minutes last night, Mother." Madeline sat down at the table. "One must also be practical." 

"Why don't we go out for ice cream," Mother suggested with a small smile as she sat down opposite Madeline. 

"We'll have to order in," Madeline countered. "I can't take the chance of collapsing on the street." She had both arms on the table which is how she caught the change in color in her peripheral vision. She abruptly stood and went to the sofa. The pain was just starting to flare. 

"What is it?" Mother asked. Her voice was laced with panic. 

Madeline held up her wrist. She was yellow-orange and it was still changing. She squeezed her eyes tight with the pain in her head. 

When she opened her eyes again, Mother was placing an ice pack in her kitchen towel. She brought it and held it to Madeline's forehead. "My poor baby," she cooed. 

As the device's display changed to dark red-orange, Mary sat beside her daughter and pulled her over to cradle her head in her lap. She cried and studied Madeline's slack face. "Come back to me, Madeline. Don't leave." But the device stayed orange-red. The door chimed but Mary didn't leave her daughter to answer it. 

Darlene, Madeline's nurse, entered and quickly crossed to the sofa. "It doesn't seem to be going any deeper," she commented after checking Madeline's wrist. "Did she see it coming?" 

Mary nodded. "Why can't they help her?" 

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Reed," Darlene told her. "Everything we've ever learned about cancer just doesn't apply to these tumors. As some patients are dying, they are donating their brains to the research. It's still a long way out, but we may find something someday." 

"Too late for my daughter." Mary stroked her daughter's hair. 

"Hard to say," Darlene replied. "We can't even offer a timeline. Just that her symptoms will become worse and more frequent." 

Madeline twitched. Darlene checked the device. Orange and getting lighter. "She's coming out of it. This was a short one." 

"I don't know how you can say that so easily," Mary accused. "They're all terrible. She loses herself." 

Darlene put a hand on Mary's arm. "I understand. She's your daughter. I like Madeline, I really do. But I have to see these things clinically." 

Madeline heard them talking and recognized they were talking about her. She brushed her mother's hands away and tried to sit up. Darlene helped. She wanted to say something but she couldn't form any words. She flopped her wrist over. Yellow-orange. "Pl—plea—please," she finally said. "Wat—" 

"Water!" Mother recognized it. She left and returned with a glass and held it to Madeline's lips. Madeline got a hand on the glass and helped tilt it so she could drink. She pushed it away when she had enough. 

"Love you, Mother," she managed. "But go now. I—better." She stood up straighter. She grabbed Darlene's hand. 

"How can I leave you?" Mother asked, caressing her face. 

"I want to talk." It was getting easier now. "Darlene." 

Mother bent down and placed a kiss on Madeline's forehead. "Alright. I'll be back tomorrow." 

_Maybe I won't,_ Madeline thought. 

Mother left. Darlene didn't pull her hand away but she sat on the sofa beside Madeline. Madeline used her other hand to retrieve the PADD. "I've had an idea." 

* * *

"Maybe you should discuss this with your parents," Darlene said after Madeline told her she wanted to donate her heart to her brother. 

Madeline held up her wrist. "Green. I know what I want. My parents would only try to stop me." 

"You can't be sure of that," Darlene said. "He's not just your brother. He's their son." 

"I don't normally air my family's dirty laundry in front of others. But my parents don't love my brother." 

Darlene wasn't sure she heard that right. She glanced at the device just to be sure it wasn't a glitch in Madeline's speech. "Why would you think that?" 

Madeline sighed and stood up. "Reed men are Navy men. Have been for centuries. Malcolm was destined for it. Father was so proud. Then, when I was eight and he was twelve, three bullies held his head under a fountain until he drowned." 

"That's awful!" Darlene stood, too. "Someone must have saved him." 

Madeline nodded. "But he was left with a severe fear of water, of drowning. He could no longer swim, no longer even stand on a pier. He couldn't fathom the Navy." She started pacing. "And once that sunk in, my Father withdrew his love, his affection and swapped that pride for disdain. Again and again, he tried to force Malcolm to face his fears and overcome them. When he didn't, or couldn't, Father saw it as a flaw in his son. When Malcolm said he was joining Starfleet, well, they may as well have disowned him. He turned his back on family tradition, a capital sin for a Reed man." 

Darlene opened her mouth but couldn't think what to say. It was appalling. She decided to change the focus to the PADD Madeline was holding. "You wrote that he was vivisected." 

Madeline nodded again. "Studied 'invasively.' Isn't that what it is?" 

"Yes," Darlene agreed. "It's been years. He's a hero. Maybe they've forgiven him." 

Madeline stopped and faced her. "Three weeks ago, after my brother was rescued and on life support, they ordered that he be removed. They didn't even want to see him. Mother told me. Just as clinically as you talked about my spells. Honestly, I don't think they'd approve of my donating anything to anyone, but least of all my brother." 

"I understand he needs a heart," Darlene said, hoping to test Madeline's resolve. "It doesn't have to be yours. You, obviously, care about him. He could use you after the transplant. You could spend time with him." 

"Eleven days," Madeline said. "He won't reach Earth for eleven days. I could be dead in eleven days." 

Darlene blew out a breath. "You know you'd have to be dead to donate—" 

"Of course, I do," Madeline snapped back. "Still green! What difference does it make? The end is the same for me. Eleven days or eleven weeks, I'm still going to die. But if I can help him, and maybe others, well, then it's not all for nothing!" 

Darlene felt she still needed to offer counterpoint, to help Madeline be sure of this course. "You won't see him heal," she reminded her. "He'll learn eventually that you're not there anymore. It adds grief to everything he's suffered." 

"He'd grieve anyway. I'm still going to die." Madeline sat at the table. "But this way I know when it's coming. I can leave him a message to let him know I wanted this." She looked up at Darlene. "Please, help me save my brother." 

Darlene took the chair beside her. "I've been wanting to ask you something similar, actually." 

Author's Note: I deliberately stayed in Madeline's POV there in the last scene, even when she had no POV. I never got the "camera" into Mary or Darlene's head so I kept it all in one scene until Madeline was able to recapture her POV. And look at that, I pulled this journey where Malcolm is unconscious all the way to Chapter 3 without him. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Star Trek: Enterprise  
Finding Home**  
by Philippe de la Matraque  
Sequel to _Alien Us_

**Chapter Three**

_**Two months in the past**_

_"It's just not fair," she told the camera--and her brother. "I know. I don't have a monopoly on that. Fair was never part of the deal. But there's so much I've never done and now I never will."_

_She wasn't hiding the tears anymore. "I've never seen the stars like you have. I've never seen Prague in person. Oh Malcolm, that architecture! Why did I never go? Why don't I have a pet? I've lived on my own for years now. Father wasn't here to stop me. Why didn't I get a kitten?"_

_"I've never been in love if you can believe it. Not once. Men have told me they love me but I have never felt it back. I'm going to die without ever having fallen in love. So not fair!" She dropped her head._

_"I envy you, Malcolm." She raised her head. "Your life is an adventure. There in the stars, seeing new worlds, facing dangers and overcoming them. You saved the planet! I've never even saved one single life. I can't even save my own."_

_She sighed. "My therapist says I'm depressed. Shocking, isn't it?" She pointed to her head. "Incurable Xindi brain tumor here? What's there not to be depressed about? I'm not even thirty and I have absolutely M_ nothing _to look forward to. Just headaches and confusion and loss of control of my body until I finally die."_

_She dropped her head again. "God, I'm depressing you now. As if you'll ever actually see this. I'm sorry." She tilted her head up slightly. "I just can't seem to muster any happier thoughts today. See you tomorrow. Maybe."_

* * *

Three surgeons met with the Chief Medical Officer of Starfleet Medical in San Francisco. Two were neurosurgeons, and the third was a cardiac specialist. Captain Carla MacCormack handed each a PADD. "We have a unique case coming in. One Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. In short, he could have been put through a blender and come out in better shape. He's been through hell and now, among other things, he need a new heart. That's where you come in, Steven." 

Steven Carver studied his PADD. "I'm surprised this one's still beating at all." 

"One inch diameter spikes?" Dr. Pavel Novak asked. " _Ježiš Maria!_ What happened to this man?" 

"What did they do to his ankles?" That was Dr. Georges Letourneau. 

MacCormack studied her own PADD, which contained a terabyte of data about just what this lieutenant had suffered over the span of a year. She was allowed some discretion in divulging that information. But these surgeons would have only limited interaction with the patient. "Too much," she replied. "And most of it's classified. I'm handling his case personally. He's on a Vulcan medical transport and should be here in a week. Given the sensitivity of his case, I want you all to work together on one surgery." 

"That's going to be crowded," Novak pointed out. 

MacCormack nodded. "Yes, it will and after I evaluate the patient, I may insist on more crowding. That's why we're talking about this now." 

"The teaching theater," Carver suggested. "You've got wrists, right?" he asked Novak. 

Novak sighed. "What's left of them, yes. These can be moved away from the chest if we spread his arms." He held his arms out to the side to demonstrate. 

Carver raised one of them. "Higher. I'll need people on both sides of that chest. I'll need as much room as you can give me." 

"Not too high," MacCormack commented. "I'm concerned about his right eye. His sternum is heavily damaged as well. Might give us an opportunity for the new osteo-fusion procedure." 

"What is that?" Letourneau asked. "I deal in nerves, not bones." 

MacCormack held out one hand palm down, then held out her other hand the same way but a few inches above the lower hand. "We fuse the donor bone onto the patient's bone." She lowered her top hand onto the lower. "The technology borrows from the transporter. End result is a fused marriage of the two bones." 

Letourneau nodded in appreciation. " _Trés bon. Merci._ " 

"Do we have a donor or donors lined up?" Novak asked. 

"Not yet," MacCormack replied. "I'll be meeting a potential donor later today." 

All three's eyebrows shot up, but Carver voiced their shock. "Alive?" 

"Xindi brain cancer," MacCormack said. "Not long left. Wants to help." 

" _Škoda,_ " Novak remarked. "Seven million was not enough?" 

"Apparently not," Carver said. "Well, the teaching theater will give us the space we'd need. Could even have the donor there. Quicker transfers." 

"Good point," MacCormack made some notes on a separate PADD. There would need to be a partition installed. That would allow the neurosurgeons to return to the donor as necessary but still keep the patient and donor separated. She also noted to enlist Dr. Meagan Pallikkathayil for anesthesia. Something wasn't right in the patient's notes. Dr. Phlox on the _Enterprise_ had noticed it, too. The patient had been conscious for nearly every procedure he was subjected to. Pallikkathayil would make sure that wouldn't happen again. 

"Thank you, Gentlemen," MacCormack said. "Start planning. Once he's here and we have a donor, I want to move quickly. This man's been through too much for too long. It's time he was healed." 

* * *

Madeline felt ridiculous in the wheelchair being pushed by Darlene. She could walk perfectly well. Well, as long as her device remained green. But the hospital had insisted on it, so she endured it. San Francisco had some beautiful buildings. Starfleet Medical wasn't one of them. She found it to antiseptic and lacking in character. It was entirely modern, though, and she supposed that would serve her brother well. 

The receptionist pointed them to the right corridor and then to a waiting area. Madeline was nervous but also excited. Malcolm would be here in a week. And within a day of that, she would probably be dead. It wasn't that it didn't scare her, but it was going to happen whether or not she was scared. Malcolm had a chance where she did not. If she could be his chance, she would save his life even if it meant her death came a bit sooner. 

Madeline's phone rang. She pulled it from her bag. It was Mother. Just then, an older woman in a white coat walked up to them. "Hello, I'm Dr. MacCormack." She held out a hand toward Madeline. "Miss Reed, welcome." 

Madeline declined the call and took the hand that was offered. "Thank you for seeing me, Doctor." 

MacCormack shook her hand briefly then ushered them both into her office. Darlene placed Madeline in front of the desk then sat beside her. MacCormack sat in her chair behind the desk. "How much do you know of your brother's condition?" 

"I know he was vivisected," Madeline told her, "and that he needs a new heart. I spoke with Commander Tucker from his ship." 

MacCormack started to speak, then stopped before finally starting again. "Miss Reed, I understand your prognosis is grim, but donating a heart is very final." 

"So is my cancer," Madeline held. She willed herself to answer the doctor's questions calmly and with conviction. And the device on her wrist to stay green throughout the interview. "I can help my brother." 

"I admire your desire to donate, but you needn't rush," MacCormack argued politely. "There's always a need." 

"I will be happy to help others," Madeline said, "but I want to help my brother first. He can't wait." 

"Miss Reed has not come to this decision lightly," Darlene added in her defense. "Dr. Quill gave her a recommendation after finding her to be of competent to make the decision." 

"I see that," MacCormack replied, picking up a PADD. "You're of sound mind at the moment?" 

Madeline held up her wrist. The green was starting to soften. She lowered her wrist again. "For now. It will only get worse. I'd rather my passing happened sooner and my brother's life was saved, then to know he has to wait on life support and I just wither away." 

She started to get worried. The display was definitely shifting toward yellow. 

MacCormack sighed. "I don't like hastening death needlessly, Miss Reed. But your brother is not needless. However, a sibling relationship does not guarantee genetic compatibility. You'll need to be tested." 

*Then test me, she wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come. She nodded. "Now?" was all she could manage. 

"Yes, we can do it now," MacCormack answered. "I'll send for someone to take you to the phlebotomist. Then you may return home and get your affairs in order." She stood and walked around her desk. She held out her hand again, and Madeline managed to take it without a hitch. "It's quite a sacrifice, cancer or no. I'm glad to have met you." She released her hand and left the office. 

Madeline moved her left arm so Darlene could see. She was glad now for the wheelchair. "Tell," she said. "Do now. Ever color." 

Darlene took her hands. "Alright." 

A young man arrived. "Follow me, please." 

Darlene got up and wheeled Madeline after him. They went down a corridor and turned left and down another corridor. Madeline couldn't keep track. The device was yellow. But she trusted Darlene would get her there. 

Finally, they stopped in a small room with tubes and little balls of white. There was a chair with strange arms, almost like a desk. The young man left and a woman in the office spoke. Madeline didn't understand what she said. 

Darlene replied for her. She held out her arm beside Madeline so Madeline held out her arm the same way. Darlene rolled up her sleeve. The woman wrapped something around it tight, then pushed a sharp thing into it. Dark red filled a tube in her hand. She put a white ball on the place where the sharp thing was and pulled the sharp thing out. Then she removed the thing that was squeezing her arm. She then pulled off the white ball and held a small box where it had been. It buzzed and felt warm. 

It was gone and the woman smiled. Darlene talked to her then they left and were moving again. Madeline just watched the walls and doors roll by. On her wrist, the device had turned yellow-orange. 

The movement stopped. Darlene moved in front of her. She said something then looked sad. Madeline started to cry. "No?" she asked. 

Darlene touched her face. She shook her head and moved Madeline's wrist so she could see. Orange. Then Darlene just held her hands. 

Madeline had no concept of time and lost her ability to find meaning in the color of the device until it started changing back from red-orange to orange to yellow-orange. It seemed to her a long time before it want all the way to green. 

"How long until we know?" she asked. 

"They'll probably know by the time we get you home," Darlene replied. "If they say yes, I'm going to stay with you, all the way." 

Madeline squeezed her hand. "You've been so good to me." 

Darlene smiled. "You make it easy. We could have been friends." 

"I think maybe we are friends," Madeline told her, smiling. "Take me home, please. I have affairs to get in order." 

* * *

Trip talked to Madeline again. He didn't have anything new to tell her about Malcolm so he just talked and tried to get to know her. She was an architect. She was open and friendly, so unlike her brother, at least before he and Malcolm became friends. Where Malcolm was dark-haired, she was bright blonde and she kept it long but tied up. He was a meticulous dresser, where she wore loose casual clothes. He almost never slouched, but she seemed more relaxed. She smiled and laughed. It seemed their accents were the only thing they had in common. 

He tried to subtly probe her about Malcolm's childhood but she only ever talked about when Malcolm was young. Not about when he would have been a teenager. Nor that mysterious event that happened when he was twelve. He learned that Malcolm used to swim competitively and even win tournaments. That he excelled at school, especially in maths and physics, and that he'd been unhappy with their family's move to Malaysia. He'd missed England with its wet weather and long history. The plants in Malaysia set off his allergies. She avoided talk of her parents deftly so he learned nothing on that front. 

She ended the call abruptly again, and Trip wondered if it had to do with her illness. She didn't appear sick, so he had no idea what was ailing her. 

* * *

The lawyer smiled. "Well, that was short and sweet. I'll have the documents drawn up for you by tomorrow morning. He handed Madeline a data chip. "Ask for Colin. He'll make sure you have a secure lock on all entrances." He stood and Madeline stood with him. "Thank you. I'll contact him today." 

"Would you like me to act as executor, or do you have someone else in mind?" 

"I do," Madeline said. "Thank you. My former employer, Sarah Farmer." She handed him a data chip containing Sarah's business credentials. 

"I'll contact her and guide her through the responsibilities." He walked to the door and Madeline went with him. He offered a hand and she shook it. "Good day, Miss Reed." 

"Good day." The door closed after him. 

"What will your brother do with all your female belongings?" Darlene asked from her seat on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. 

"Whatever he wishes," Madeline replied. She grabbed the other stool for a seat. "He can donate them, give them to Mother, or to a lady friend. My parents would leave him nothing, so I'm leaving him everything. Simple as that." 

"Also leaves you less to pack up." Madeline chuckled. "Less for my mother to get suspicious over." She popped a grape in her mouth. 

"You're really not going to tell them at all?" 

"They'll be notified, I'm sure, once it's done. They'll want a funeral and they can have one." 

"They'll wonder why you're in San Francisco and not London." 

"Can't really avoid that one," Madeline replied. She took a few more grapes. "I'll need to be close. Besides I want to see him first. Just once." 

"I'm certain they'll let you," Darlene said. "I'll make sure of it if I have to make a fuss." She took one of Madeline's hands. "Are you frightened at all?" 

Madeline nodded. "Just that point when I go from being here to gone, you know. But I'm just going to keep thinking about Malcolm. Saving him. That's how I'll manage." 

Darlene squeezed her hand then let go. "I'll make dinner. Perhaps you should go record another journal entry. It's going to be rough for him once he finds out." 

"Good plan! I need to let him know I wanted this." She slipped off the stool and went to her room. Two days from now, they'd all be in San Francisco and she would save his life. 

* * *

Two hours out and Trip was with V'Ret as he talked with Starfleet Medical's CMO, Dr. Carla MacCormack. She needed V'Ret to coordinate the transfer of the patient from the ship to the hospital. She needed Trip because he was a witness to at least Malcolm's last ordeal on Sharu and because he knew Malcolm personally. 

She filled him in on their plans once he was safely transferred. To save Malcolm from the fear of another surgery, they planned to combine the heart transplant with the nerve transplants and get him done all at once. They had a donor who could supply everything. That both elated and saddened Trip. It was great for Malcolm, but it meant someone had just died. 

One surgery. Malcolm would wake up whole when he woke up. And Trip would still be on Earth to welcome him back to the land of the conscious. Given the circumstances, it was the best they could hope for. 

Trip answered her questions as honestly as he could. Yes, it had been an entire year, and yes, time travel had been involved which meant there had been no way to remove Malcolm from the situation any sooner than they had. His family included Stuart and Mary Reed, and his sister, Madeline. And yes, he himself wanted to be kept up-to-date on Malcolm's recovery. He planned to spend a lot of time at Starfleet Medical when he was not conferring with Research and Development. 

Once that was all over, Trip retired to his quarters to pack and call his mother. Mom wasn't in though. 

"How's Malcolm doin', son?" he dad asked. 

"Same," Trip replied, "but they're gettin' ready for him at Starfleet Medical. They've already got a donor and everything." 

"Well, that's good. Your mother said you were worried about his parents." 

"Yeah," Trip admitted. "But I've talked to his sister a couple times. If it weren't for their last name, Pop, I wouldn't have pegged them as related. They could hardly be more different. He's quiet and moody, she's light and open, has no problem telling me about herself. Same parents. So how'd they come out opposites?" 

"Same parents doesn't mean same treatment," his father said, "or same experiences. You said something happened when he was twelve that changed things with his dad. That thing must not have involved his sister." 

So nothing changed between her and her parents but they had for Malcolm. Trip sighed. "Yeah, has to be it. She grows up in favor and Malcolm doesn't. She cares a lot about him though, I could tell." 

"Good," Dad replied, nodding. "Sounds like he had her in his corner at least. You do know we kept your room here, right? If you think it's not good with his parents, you bring him here." 

Why hadn't he thought of that? "You sure? He's not the easier person to get to know on a good day, and those aren't goin' to be good days." 

"We've had our share of bad days, Trip." 

Trip nodded. They, too, had suffered when Elizabeth had been killed. They lost their daughter and their home. "I know," he said. "Thanks, Pop. I'll keep that in my pocket. I'll let you know if comes to that." 

"When are you due in?" 

"Should be in San Francisco around eight," Trip told him. "I'll have to meet with R&D tomorrow morning." 

"Well, don't forget to swing by here once in a while. We miss you, son." 

"I miss you, too." Trip quickly worked out the logistics to see if he could swing by home after Malcolm got settled tonight or maybe when he was in surgery. That probably wasn't going to happen the same night he arrived. "Maybe I can stop in later tonight. Surgery is sure to take a few hours, too." 

"Either way," Dad assured him. "Beats mopin' in a waiting room." 

* * *

Sarah Farmer placed the locking mechanism on the outside of Madeline's door, then synchronized it with the lock on her briefcase. She turned to her former employer. "I'm going to miss you." 

Madeline touched her arm. "You could have fired me for all those mistakes, but you told me to see a doctor. You were right, but you didn't have to do that. I couldn't have asked for a better boss." 

"I knew that something had to be wrong," Sarah told her. "You were too good an architect to just be sloppy. Are you sure about this?" 

Madeline smiled. "I'm very sure. He's my brother." 

"Alright then." Sarah nodded. "I'll find him, after the funeral. I will tell your parents nothing until after I deliver this case." 

Darlene arrived behind them. "Transport is all set." 

Madeline nodded. Then she turned back to Sarah. "Thank you for what you did and for what you will do." 

"It's my pleasure." She wiped a tear from her eye then pulled Madeline into a hug. "Go, save your brother's life." Then she handed her off to Darlene. 

Madeline brushed her own tears away in the lift. "It's time." 

Darlene walked with her out to the transport and they both got in. "Starfleet Medical, San Francisco?" the pilot asked for confirmation. 

"Yes," Madeline replied. 

"ETA is three hours forty-five minutes, around eight fifteen pm local time. Seats recline if you feel like napping. Snacks and water are available in the cubby on your right. Pillows and blankets on the left." 

"Thank you," Darlene offered. 

Madeline checked the snacks and found a package of small chocolate donuts. She laughed. "Don't have to worry about eating healthy now." 

Darlene smiled. "Indulge, then maybe we'll have a sleep before we arrive." She handed Madeline a blanket and pillow and they both got comfortable for the trip. Madeline offered Darlene a donut, but she grabbed an apple from the cubby instead. "I do need to eat healthy." 

"Thank you again for sticking with me," Madeline told her. 

"It's my pleasure," Darlene offered. "I said I'd stay all the way. I think this is a brave and noble thing you're doing. But nothing says you have to be brave alone." 

* * *

The transfer was a blur of activity. The Vulcans hooked Malcolm up to a portable unit, and Trip climbed into the shuttle next to V'Ret who monitored Malcolm all the way to the surface. Dr. MacCormack met them on the landing pad. V'Ret escorted Malcolm inside with the CMO leading the way. Nurses and technicians assisted in transferring Malcolm from the Vulcans' gurney and equipment to their own with swift efficiency. Trip stayed near the door, out of the way. 

V'Ret checked Malcolm over once more, then made some remarks on a PADD, which he held out for MacCormack to sign. "Transfer complete," he announced. He met Trip at the door. He held up his right hand, with his thumb out and his fingers split two and two. "Live long and prosper, Commander Tucker." 

Trip mirrored the gesture with his own hand. "Live long and prosper, and thank you for takin' good care of my friend." 

V'Ret nodded then left, presumably to head back to the shuttle. The nurses and techs left and then it was just Trip, Malcolm, and Dr. MacCormack. She wasn't a tall woman but she radiated confidence. He could see she was a leader by the way she moved. Her shoulder-length black hair was tucked behind her ears, and the few wrinkles in her face put her in early sixties. "Your Dr. Phlox had some concern about the lieutenant's eye. That was one of the earlier _'procedures_ ,' was it not?" 

Trip stepped further into the room. "I think so, yes." 

"Did he happen to mention having any trouble with his vision?" 

Trip thought back to those moments when Malcolm was conscious back on the ship. "Don't think it ever came up. He wasn't too talkative. It wasn't easy on him." 

MacCormack bent over Malcolm's head and opened his left eye. She held a small scanner over it then moved to the other eye. "I'll get an ophthalmologist to look these over. I'd rather we know now if that will require surgery." 

Finally, she turned and looked at Trip. "You found him, didn't you?" 

"Me and Lt. Woods." Trip moved over and lifted one of Malcolm's splinted hands. 

"Couldn't have been easy." She put a hand on Trip's shoulder. "And I know it's not easy seeing him like this either. Surgery is set for tomorrow morning. We're going to take good care of him. I've my best heart surgeon on it, my best neurosurgeons and anesthesiologist. He's going to look a lot better when he wakes up." 

Trip just nodded. 

"He was in a research facility, sterile environment?" 

"A laboratory," Trip told her. "No furniture but beds and medical equipment." 

"So waking up in a room like this would not be conducive to his good mental health." 

"No, I guess it wouldn't." The sunburn was fading on Malcolm's face, but patches of his skin were starting to peel. 

"Some medical equipment will be necessary but I think we can make his recovery room a bit homier. Paint the walls, bring in a sofa, some plants, a soft lamp." 

Trip turned to look at her. Her face was serious. 

"We have good counselors, too, even a new guy, a Betazoid from Betazed, came in on Interspecies Medical Exchange program. You might like to talk to one of them, too." 

Trip sighed. "I think I'm gonna go home for the night and talk to my mom instead." 

MacCormack smiled and inclined her head. "Phlox said to keep you posted on his condition while you're on Earth. How long are you planning on staying?" 

"Until R&D's done with me," he replied. "A couple weeks would be my guess." 

She tilted her head slightly. "What is he to you?" 

"My best friend," he said without hesitation. "Almost a brother." 

"Then it will be good he has you for those couple weeks." 

There was a soft knock at the door. Both he and the doctor turned. "Madeline!" Trip exclaimed, recognizing Malcolm's sister from their conversations. She was with another woman. He went to the door and offered Madeline a hand. 

Instead of taking it, she pulled him into a hug. "Trip, it's good to finally meet you." She released him. "But I'd like to see my brother." 

"Of course," Trip said. "I'll head down to the canteen. Maybe we can have that tea there when you're done here." 

"I'd like that," she replied with a smile. "I'll meet you there shortly." 

Trip let her and her companion into the room then picked up his bag and headed for the canteen. 

* * *

"Miss Reed," Doctor MacCormack said. She took Madeline's hand and brought her to the bedside. When Madeline started to cry, she put an arm around her shoulders. "I know it looks bad now, but imagine him after it's over. No splints on those wrists, no braces on his ankles. He'll be able to walk, to run eventually. The tubes and wires will go way, the sunburn will fade. You're going to help him be healthy again." 

Madeline lifted Malcolm's hand. It felt warm but lifeless in hers. She touched his sunburned face. It was hot under her hand. His chest rose and fell regularly. "When?" she asked. 

"Ten in the morning." 

There it was. The time of her death. "It won't hurt." 

"Not at all," MacCormack replied. 

"You'll take good care of him?" 

"The best we can, I promise you." 

Madeline sniffed and held out her hand for Darlene. "I think I'll go have that tea now." 

* * *

Trip could tell she'd been crying, but she smiled as she and her companion joined him at the table. "This is my friend, Darlene," she said, introducing the woman with short brown hair. "Darlene, this is my brother's friend, Commander Charles Tucker." 

Trip offered Darlene a hand. "Call me Trip, please." 

"Good to meet you, Trip," she said, shaking his hand briefly. "I'll go get us some tea then." 

Trip wanted so much to ask about their parents' relationship with Malcolm, but Madeline had said she was sick, and he didn't want to push her. Besides, she asked him about Malcolm, and he ended up regaling her with stories while they sipped their tea. He told her about the mishap on Shuttlepod One that began his and Malcolm's friendship. About the time Malcolm got stuck on the hull and impaled by a Romulan mine. He even told some embarrassing stories to make her laugh. If it wasn't for T'Pol, Trip might have wanted to get to know Madeline better. He also didn't know how Malcolm would feel about him seeing his sister. 

Then Darlene tapped what looked like a wristwatch on Madeline's wrist. "I think it's time for your medicine, Madeline." 

Madeline looked at the watch. "Ah, yes it is. Thank you for the tea, Trip. I'm glad my brother has you here." 

And then they were gone. 

* * *

Dr. MacCormack was waiting in the corridor. She could see something wasn't right with Madeline Reed's gait. She quickly went to meet them. "Shall I get a chair?" she asked the nurse, Darlene. 

"Yes, I think it best," she answered. She was supporting Madeline for the most part. 

MacCormack waved to an orderly who wheeled a chair over. Darlene deposited Madeline in it. MacCormack did a quick scan with her medical scanner. 

"Her spells come and go," Darlene explained. 

Madeline looked with worry at the device on her wrist. Where it had been green in her office a week ago, it was now a dark orange color. 

"Would you rather stay here for tonight?" MacCormack asked her. "We can put another bed in there with your brother." 

Madeline nodded in big movements. The device was almost red in color now. Madeline looked to Darlene in a panic. "No bl-bla--" 

Darlene knelt in front of her. "It's okay. It's not black." But the panic was gone and Madeline nearly fell out of the chair. The device on her dangling arm was deep red now. 

MacCormack gave quick orders and a bed was wheeled into the room with Lt. Reed. Darlene wheeled Madeline in and the two of them got her onto the bed. "Black is bad," the nurse commented. 

"It seems to be staying deep red," MacCormack told her. "What's the color system?" 

"Green is full cognition. Goes downhill to yellow then orange, red and finally black. Too long in black and she's dead. She was afraid she might die too early." 

"Good thing she's in a hospital then." MacCormack gave some more orders and soon Madeline was hooked up to monitors with an oxygen tube set up in her nose. The device on her wrist slowly turned a brighter shade of red. 

Darlene brushed the hair from Madeline's forehead. When the device showed orange she spoke to her. "Still here," she told her charge. "Would you like to turn so you can see him? Two for yes." 

Madeline blinked twice, so Darlene helped her turn onto her side. "See, it was a short one." 

MacCormack tucked a blanket around the young woman. "Get some rest, dear," she said. "We'll all be here in the morning." 

It took another twenty minutes for the device to go green. Madeline fell asleep waiting. Darlene found the one chair in the room. "You don't need to stay," MacCormack quietly told the nurse. 

Darlene sighed. "Palliative Care and Hospice are my specialties. I told her I'd stay with her all the way." 

MacCormack nodded. "We'll be sure to get you scrubbed in tomorrow. Can I get you something? Coffee, something to eat?" 

"Blanket and a couple pillows?" she asked, apparently with the plan of sleeping in that chair. 

"Of course," MacCormack replied. She left the room, dimming the lights on her way out. She told the orderly at the desk to fetch three pillows and a blanket. Chairs were not the most comfortable place to sleep. 

* * *

Fortunately, it only took an hour to reach his parent's place. He still missed their old place, where he'd grown up. But that was lost to the Xindi attack along with seven million people. Elizabeth had been one of them. He set the borrowed flitter down gently in the front yard. Mom was out the door before Trip could get the flap opened. She wrapped him in a hug as soon as both feet were finally planted in the grass. His father added two more arms, and it became a group hug. Mom kissed his cheek before she let go. 

Trip reveled in the affection. He was used to it. This had been standard procedure when he came home for decades now. But it was him wondering if Malcolm got even a fraction of it when he came home that made him appreciate it so much now. 

Dad wrapped an arm over his shoulder and walked him into the house. "You missed dinner," he said. 

"But you're just in time for dessert," Mom added. 

"Ooh, what're we havin'?" Trip asked, following them to the kitchen. Mom pulled out a chair for him and then went to the counter while Dad went to the freezer. 

"Warm peach pie," Mom answered, placing a plate with a sizeable piece in front of him. She got two more for her and Dad. 

"A la mode," Dad tacked on, and he scooped a hefty portion of vanilla ice cream on top of the pie. 

Mom set down as Dad topped the other plates. He put the ice cream away before sitting down to enjoy his dessert. 

Trip couldn't speak if he wanted to. The ice cream was melting so he tucked in. Soft, gently sweet peaches and creamy ice cream, one warm and one cold. It was heaven. And it was gone too soon. 

Mom placed a hand over his. "I'm glad you stopped by. How's Malcolm?" 

"He's all set up in Starfleet Medical," Trip told her. "The CMO herself is looking after him. They're gonna try and fix everything in one surgery tomorrow morning. They have a donor already lined up." 

"Good, he won't have to wait long," Dad commented. "What can you tell us about what happened to him?" 

Trip flashed back to Malcolm lying there in the sand. "Hell," he replied. "He's been through hell and for a whole year at that." 

"He was gone for a year?" Mom asked. 

"Well, yes and no." Trip tried to explain without getting too technical. "When the shuttle he was in crashed, it crashed in the past. He was only gone a few days from our perspective. But for him and Hoshi, it was a year. And not a good one. He was studied by the scientists there. Invasively. They experimented on him, too. They tortured and drugged him to make him talk. What they did in the end topped even that. His heart just couldn't keep up anymore." 

Mom rubbed his hand. "Well, that will change after tomorrow. He'll have a new, healthy heart and can start on healin'. What about this Hoshi?" 

"She's still on _Enterprise_ ," Trip groused. He frowned. "She shouldn't be. She should be down here with him, with her family. She wasn't as bad off, physically, but up here..." He pointed to his forehead. "...she suffered a lot, too." He was tempted to tell them about Malcolm's new ability and how the two of them fell in love, but he'd promised Malcolm he wouldn't tell anyone but the captain. Malcolm didn't deserve any broken promises. 

"You learn anything new about his family?" Mom asked. 

Trip nodded. "He's got a sister who cares about him a lot. She was there at the hospital tonight. Came to see him." 

"That's sweet," she replied. "But not his parents?" 

Trip shrugged. Dad got up to put the dishes in the sink. "I'm not even sure they know, to be honest. Medical may have to notify them. Suppose it makes sense if they did." 

"I would certainly want to know if it was you in there," Mom insisted. "Maybe they'll visit after the surgery." 

"Maybe," Trip said. He rubbed his eyes. 

"You must be tired after that boring trip, Trip," Dad commented, clapping him on the shoulders. "Your room's all made up. Just in case you stopped by." 

"Thanks, Pop." He stood and bent to kiss his mother on the cheek. "Pie was divine!" 

"Great Grandma's recipe never disappoints," she replied. She caught his arm before he headed for the bedroom. "Did you ever figure out Malcolm's favorite food?" 

Trip smiled, remembering. "Pineapple. Took some doing to find out. Phlox had to let Hoshi in on a bit of Malcolm's medical history to find out. Something about him being allergic to it but taking stuff so he wouldn't be affected." 

"Suppose the ends did justify the means on that one," Dad quipped. 

"He was very happily surprised," Trip told him. "Might have been the first time I ever saw him smile." Trip had to go back to the flitter for his bag, but he was ready for bed within thirty minutes. He was tired. As he lay in bed he loved the familiarity of it. New house, new walls, new mattress, but still, it felt like home. And he could vaguely hear his parents still talking at the kitchen table. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but their voices made a comfortable white noise. He was asleep in minutes. 

* * *

They woke her at eight thirty. She took care of her needs in the bathroom then she and Darlene went to the canteen for a breakfast of gelatin in three flavors. Madeline would have rather gorged on her breakfast favorites like French toast with peanut butter and syrup washed down with a large glass of cold chocolate milk. Seemed more fitting for her last breakfast. But surgery was this morning. She couldn't eat solids before surgery. 

Still, they were good flavors: strawberry, piña colada, and lime. Poor Malcolm wasn't even getting that. 

"Is there anything you'd like to do," Darlene asked her. "We've got just over thirty minutes before we have to have you back." 

"I'd say go for a walk in town but we wouldn't get far in that time," Madeline replied. "Maybe a drive then. I'd like to see the old parts of the city, look at the buildings." 

Darlene smiled. "I think we could see a few." 

They left the canteen and the hospital and got a cab. "Where to, Ladies?" the pilot asked. 

"I'm an architect," Madeline replied. "Show me some of San Francisco's iconic buildings." 

"And have us back here by nine twenty-five," Darlene added. 

"That I can do." The pilot lifted off, but not too high and in minutes they were up into a steep residential area. "The Painted Ladies, from the mid-twentieth century, but harkening back to Victorian and Edwardian times." He few them by the old City Hall, Grace Cathedral, and the Palace Hotel, taking time to highlight the architecture of each. Too soon they were once again parked at the ultra-modern Starfleet Medical hospital. 

Darlene walked with her back inside. Dr. MacCormack was waiting. "I hope you had a lovely morning. I do wish we could have given you a better breakfast." 

"At least there were three flavors," Madeline replied. "What's next?" 

"We prep you and your brother for surgery," MacCormack said. She led them to another room. "Once we're all ready, we'll wheel you in to the OR. We'll hook you up to a device that will connect to that implant in your head. It will trigger one of your spells--without the accompanying headache. You'll be in control of that trigger." 

Madeline nodded and took a steadying breath. 

"Would you like to speak to a counselor beforehand?" MacCormack offered. 

"I've got Darlene," Madeline replied. 

"All the way," Darlene said, repeating her promise. 

"There's a gown on the chair, lie on the bed." MacCormack pointed to the chair. "Darlene, if you would open the door when she's ready." 

Darlene nodded. MacCormack left and closed the door. 

Suddenly Madeline's knees felt weak. She sat down on the bed. "This is it." 

Darlene sat beside her and pulled her into a side hug. "It will be quick and painless." 

"Like going into black?" Madeline asked. "I won't really know?" 

"You'll lose consciousness before you pass. That moment of transition, you won't even be aware of it." 

Madeline blew out a shaky breath. "Should make it easier. Do you think there's anything after? I'd like to be able to look after Malcolm, you know." 

"I don't know," Darlene replied. "My great grandparents used to believe there was. My parents, not so much. They used to think heaven was a place in the sky, or above it. We've been beyond it, far beyond it. Light years. And no one ever found heaven." 

"Maybe it's more of a dimensional thing," Madeline posited. "This life is one dimension and the next is another." 

Darlene squeezed her shoulder. "You'll be the one to find out. Maybe you can find a way to let me know." 

Madeline sighed. "Malcolm needs me." She hopped off the bed and began to remove her clothes. 

* * *

At nine fifty-five, Madeline Reed was brought into the OR. Darlene came with her, scrubbed and robed. She held Madeline's hand the entire time. Dr. Carla MacCormack approached on the opposite side of Madeline's gurney. She placed a small controller in Madeline's hand. "They're going to let us know when Malcolm is ready. Then, when you're ready, you just slide this forward with your thumb. It will be like slipping into yellow, then orange, then red, then black. When your brain registers no activity for five minutes, we'll call it. Then you'll save your brother life and probably a few others." 

Madeline locked eyes with her. "Malcolm first. Anything I have that he needs. Then the others. My brain goes to research. Maybe they'll find a way to treat these damn tumors." She took a breath. "Don't tell me parents what I've done. Darlene will inform them." 

"As you wish," MacCormack said, "it will be done." 

The partition was pulled back. "We're ready." 

Madeline turned to Darlene, met her eyes. "All the way?" she whispered. 

Darlene blinked back her tears. "All the way." She squeezed Madeline's hand and nodded. 

Madeline didn't look back. She moved the lever forward, and slowly, gently, the muscles in her face relaxed, the focus in her eyes released. Darlene kept one hand on Madeline's then closed Madeline's eyes with the other. MacCormack watched the monitor then started the countdown. Madeline was intubated and the ventilator kept her breathing. Her pulse was steady. But there was no neural activity. Five minutes later, MacCormack called it. "Time of death, ten eleven." 

Darlene sniffed and left the room. MacCormack followed her out. "You picked a difficult specialty." 

Darlene nodded. "My father died alone. I couldn't get home in time. My mum was away on business. He'd had an aneurysm. I don't want that to happen with anyone else. It hurts, but I want each one to know they had someone with them." 

"I said difficult," MacCormack replied, "not unworthy." 

"I'll take her body back to England, minus one hand, to be cremated. The ashes will need to be delivered to her executor to be added to her will." 

"We can handle a cremation that small," MacCormack said. "Can you get the ashes to the executor?" 

Darlene nodded. "I think I'd like to speak with one of those counselors." 

MacCormack nodded. She held out an arm to indicate the waiting area. "I'll send one to you." 

Darlene went to wait. MacCormack went to the desk to request the counselor on duty, then she returned to the theater to watch over her patient. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Star Trek: Enterprise  
Finding Home**  
by Philippe de la Matraque  
Sequel to _Alien Us_

**Chapter Four**

_**One month in the past**_

_Oh, Malcolm! What happened?" Madeline had tears in her eyes. She wore a device on her wrist that was showing a green color on its display. "Here I've been bemoaning my upcoming lack of existence while you almost died just the other day! When Mother told me, I admit I heard a bit of sadness in her voice. But it hit me like a three-ton weight to the chest. They ordered you off life-support. I couldn't believe it! When I asked if they'd seen you, she said no and that it would have been too taxing. Taxing? For them?" She rolled her eyes and threw up her hands in disgust._

_She sighed and focused again. "I was devastated. Would Mother and Father now be left with no descendants at all? Would they even cry for you? Mother's nearly in tears every time she sees me, and that's nearly every week now."_

_Madeline sighed and smiled at the camera. "But then you didn't die. I like to think you were too stubborn and wouldn't let them have the last say. You always did exceed expectations, didn't you? Others would think you too small, too sick with allergies. But you outswam them, excelled at martial arts, and shined with brilliance at maths and physics. Who would have thought that young man would go on to earn twenty-eight merit badges? You bested Father by two. Or who would have thought that one who suffered trauma as you did and our father's near-constant disapproval would still harbor such strong moral fiber?"_

_The smile faded and she wiped at her tears. "Oh, Malcolm, I was thrilled that you survived but I know you must be in a very sorry state to have been so close to death. I don't pretend to know even one inkling of what befell you to bring you to that state. But at least you have survived and are expected to keep doing so, according to Mother._

_"For the record, when I do see Father, he keeps his usual stiff upper lip and never breaks decorum. But I do see a softness in his eyes and occasionally hear a slight quiver in his voice. He speaks kindly to me, as always, but it's mother who frets and fawns. She still hopes in a miracle cure. It's stifling. I gave up on that weeks ago. Everything they try makes these tumors grow, not shrink."_

_Another tear made its way down her cheek. "Oh, I do hope they send you home to recuperate. Then I might get to see you one last time. Or at least one last time before I lose all my mental faculties altogether. If that does not come to pass, know then, that I love you, brother. I love you dearly. No Xindi brain cancer can take that away."_

_"Madeline, dear!" A woman's voice from another room. "Come and eat."_

_Madeline rolled her eyes again. "Mother's here. End recording."_

* * *

Trip checked his messages every hour since he'd returned from his first meet and greet with R&D. Mom had teased that he'd wear a rut in the floor going back and forth. He'd returned home for lunch but then just stayed. Like his father had said, it beat mopin' in a waiting room. 

Albert and Miguel had come over from Alabama, too, since they hadn't seen Trip for years. They brought their teenaged son, Owen, but the boy just sat on the couch playing video games on his tablet while the grown-ups talked. 

Albert didn't say much really, beyond the usual small talk. It hurt Trip a little that his big brother couldn't separate his distaste for Starfleet from his little brother. Miguel, however, took him aside and asked about Malcolm's injuries. He was a home health nurse by trade, so Trip gave him a bit more of the details than he'd done with his parents but not so much about Malcolm being cut open every month or tortured late. But he did describe the way Malcolm had been found in the desert. 

The message came just as everyone was gathering for dinner. Trip was the last to sit down. "Well?" his mother asked. She paused just as she was about to start dishing up the fish. 

"He's out of surgery," Trip told the family. "Everything's lookin' good so far. They're gonna try waking him up tomorrow morning. I've gotta be there for that." 

"It will be good for him to see a friendly face," Miguel suggested. 

"That's my thinking," Trip agreed. He spooned a few hush puppies on his plate and passed the bowl around. 

"I'm glad your friend is doing better," Albert said. Then he passed around the tartar sauce. "Owen, put that down. We're at the dinner table." 

Owen rolled his eyes but put his tablet on the floor under his chair. 

"How old are you now, Owen?" Trip asked, spooning some tartar sauce onto his own plate. The fish was perfectly seared and it smelled wonderful. 

"Fourteen," the boy replied, with still a hint of his Irish brogue. 

Trip was shocked. "Wow! You were a lot smaller the last time I saw you." 

Miguel put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "He's really shot up this last year. He's almost taller than me now." 

The fish was heavenly. No one could make it as good as Mom. Albert, Miguel, and Owen left soon after dinner. Owen had school the next morning. Mom had just a little bit of the pie left so she and Dad let Trip have it, knowing he'd leave early for San Francisco the next morning. Trip went to bed early with a full stomach and a homey feeling he hadn't realized he'd missed so much on _Enterprise._

When he woke early the next day, he went to the kitchen hoping to make a quiet breakfast so Mom and Dad could sleep in. 

"What would you like?" Trip spun around, surprised at his mother's voice. She was sitting on a bench in a little alcove set into the kitchen wall. "I can make you something." She started to rise. 

Trip sat beside her instead. She was wearing her pajamas and robe but she looked ragged and tried. "What're you doing up at this hour? You and Pop were up talking past midnight." 

"I don't sleep so well sometimes," she said, waving him off. She got up and went to the fridge. "Sometimes she visits me in my dreams. It seems so real. I wake up hoping she's here but...." 

"Mama." Trip got up and took the eggs from her hand. He set those on the counter then pulled his mother to him. "It's been a couple years now. You should talk to someone." 

"I know," she replied, breaking the hug and picking up the eggs again. "I just feel silly." She moved to the stove. 

"Grief doesn't have an expiration date," Trip told her. "And everyone goes about it their own way. I got angry and bitter. I went into the Expanse achin' for revenge. Kept me from sleeping well, too, to be honest." 

The eggs started to snap and pop in the pan. "Get a ham slice from the fridge," she told him. "What helped you?" 

"Stopping the Xindi went a long way." He handed her the ham, and she added it to the skillet. "And Vulcan neuropressure. It's kind of like massage." 

"Hadn't considered massage," she admitted. "I suppose I could try that." 

Trip gave her a kiss on the cheek then went to the fridge for some milk. He didn't want her to see his face. He could feel the heat in his cheeks as he remembered where that Vulcan neuropressure had led. 

Dad arrived just as Mom was plating the ham and eggs. "I'll make us both some, too," she said. 

"Sit down, Gracie." Trip's father kissed her on the cheek then went to the fridge. "I'll get it." 

Mom put the plate in front of Trip with a knife and fork then sat down beside him. "What's the plan for today?" 

"Well, I got R&D to wait until after noon." He took a bite of his scrambled eggs. "I'm gonna be there when they wake Malcolm up. I hope to spend the whole morning with him. Then I get to go over Malcolm's adjustments to the EM field." 

Mom placed a hand over to touch his arm. "You're a good friend, Trip." 

Trip set down his fork for a moment. "I keep thinking about what they did to him and how he must have felt, thinking we'd left him and Hoshi there. They gave up hoping we'd come for them. I don't want him to feel like that again. I can't stay until he's ready for duty again so I wanna spend as much time as I can before I head back to the ship." 

The stove was popping again. "Why did you wait so long, anyway?" Dad asked. 

Trip finished his eggs and took a long swig of his milk. "The farther the shuttle got from _Enterprise_ , the farther back in time it went. A year ago, we weren't anywhere near that planet. Once we caught up, we had to know we could get them without that happening again. We had to find them and make a plan to get them out while also destroying all the evidence they were ever there. Then we found out Malcolm was sentenced to death. We had to go then, ready or not. Thankfully, it worked out." 

"You said it got worse in the end," Mom said. "That was 'worse'? A death sentence?" 

Trip nodded. "Staked out in the desert for hours and hours. He stopped breathing on the way back to the ship." 

"But you got them both," Dad remarked. "You told them about the time travel?" He sat down and handed Mom a plate. 

"Yeah," Trip downed the rest of his milk and stood. "They went from angry to confused and kind of horrified." He put his dishes in the sink. "Well, it's time I got goin'." He kissed his mom again then headed out to the flitter. 

* * *

Maintenance had done well with the room. The light blueish-gray walls felt calming to Dr. MacCormack. The overhead lights were bright now but two lamps graced the room. One nearer the bed and one nearer the loveseat that had been placed on the opposite side of the room. Two tall plants stood guard in opposite corners, one at the front of the room and one at the back. 

Her patient was still unconscious, but that was going to change today. She pulled back the blanket on his feet. His ankles were bandaged neatly and very tightly to restrict movement. She recovered his feet and lifted one of his wrists. It was splinted again, which was understandable, given the damage the spikes had left to the surrounding bones. She removed a neural stimulator from a pocket on her lab coat and tested several spots on the palm of his hand. His thumb and fingers jerked slightly with the current and straightened, just as she'd hoped. 

She lifted the blanket from his chest then and eased his hand down. He was now packed in heavy bandages to protect the new microsutures closing his chest. The monitor showed a strong, steady pulse underneath. She covered him back up. The last bandage was wrapped around his head and covered his right eye. Yamato had assured her that his eyes would still match in appearance once the bandage came off and his visual acuity would be restored. 

All told, Malcolm Reed looked peaceful lying there. "Well, Lieutenant," she spoke softly, "today is the first day of the rest of your life. In an hour or so, you'll get to start living it." Commander Tucker was on his way in from Mississippi. Then they'd wake Malcolm Reed up. 

* * *

They were waiting for her when she arrived back in London. Darlene wasn't sure how they'd known to be here. She had planned on contacting Madeline's parents after she had got home. 

"Where is Madeline?" Admiral Reed demanded when she stepped out of the transport alone. 

"There's a lock on her door," Mary Reed added. "What's happened?" 

Darlene took a deep breath and straightened her posture. "Mr. and Mrs. Reed, I'm very sorry to inform you that Madeline Reed passed away yesterday afternoon. She's here in the transport. I've brought her home as she wished." 

"Why weren't we notified yesterday afternoon?" the admiral pressed. Mary just stood quivering as she tried not to cry publicly. 

Darlene held firm. "That is not what she wished." 

The admiral moved forward a step. "Why was she even away? Why San Francisco?" 

So they knew that much. This was delicate. "She wanted to see the architecture. And her brother." 

"Malcolm is in San Francisco?" Mary's voice was so quiet, Darlene had almost not heard it. 

She kept it vague. "Recovering from his wounds." 

"And she died there?" The admiral had kept moving closer to the point Darlene had to step back. 

"She went deep into a spell. Black. She didn't come out of it." It was half the truth. Madeline hadn't wanted them to know about the transplants. Darlene figured they'd find out eventually. But she wasn't going to be the one to tell them. She pulled a PADD from her bag. It held a copy of the death certificate. Dr. MacCormack had couched the cause of death in so much medical-ese that it was somewhat hidden that it had been voluntary, but it very clearly showed the ultimate cause was the cancer. 

The admiral snatched the PADD. "What were you planning on doing with her?" 

"I was to deliver her to Naird and Sons Funeral Parlor and then to contact you. She'd said you'd want a traditional funeral." 

"Not with Naird and Sons," Admiral Reed ordered. "And not in London. We'll take her home, to Kota Bharu." 

"She has friends here," Darlene argued, knowing it wouldn't sway him. "This was her home." 

"Was that in her wishes?" he asked. "What of her will?" 

"I had nothing to do with her will," Darlene told him. It was the truth. "She only asked me to do as I was doing should the worst happen while we were away. Naird and Sons was only to hold the body. She said you could make whatever funeral arrangements you wanted." 

"Then we are taking her home." He went to talk to the pilot of the transport. Darlene ducked back inside. She picked up her bag and the refrigerated case. She laid one hand on the transport case and said a silent good-bye. Madeline was now at the mercy of her parents. Darlene stepped out of the transport and started walking away. Mary Reed was still just standing there, but the tears were flowing freely now. "I'm sorry for your loss," Darlene whispered as she passed. She didn't look back again. 

* * *

The black nothingness slowly receded, allowing sensation and memories began the process of awakening Malcolm Reed. Eventually, he registered that he was lying on his side with something soft behind him. His chest felt restricted. What had they done? He didn't remember waking this time. His arms didn't hurt so it wasn't them. His back felt fine. He had a vague ache in his leg but that he did remember and it wasn't so recent. 

_Hoshi!_ he cried out. But she didn't answer. He started to panic. 

"Malcolm." A hand touched his hand and he remembered his wrists. The spikes being pounded in. "Open your eye, Malcolm." 

_Eye. One eye. Oh god, not again._ He opened his eye expecting to see the lab, those three fingers reaching for him. But there was only Trip. 

Trip stood and put a hand on Malcolm's shoulder. "It's okay. You're safe." 

"Where?" Malcolm's tongue felt thick. His mind felt slowed, like he was half drunk. He took in the room behind Trip. Blue, soft lighting. Machines beeped behind his head. It didn't fit. 

"Starfleet Medical," Trip said, sitting down again. "Do you remember? We came to Earth. You needed a new heart." 

_Needed_ , he thought, catching the tense of the word. He now recognized one set of beeps as his pulse. "When?" 

Trip smiled. "It's all over. You got the new ticker installed and a few other things to boot. Look! You're squeezing my hand." 

Malcolm lifted their hands so he could see it. All his fingers were wrapped around Trip's. He lifted his other hand and straightened his fingers. All five of them moved. A bit shakily but they moved. 

"Got your ankles done, too, and worked on that eye a bit. Doc said if they hadn't, it would've gone blind in a few years." 

Malcolm used his now working hand to feel his right eye. He felt bandages instead. "Still there?" Why was it so hard to talk? It wasn't for lack of breath. That was easier now even with the tightness around his chest. Instead, he felt his mouth was stuck in slow motion. 

"Yeah." Trip smiled. "It's still there. They're hoping you won't need any more surgeries for a long, long time." 

Trip sat back and Malcolm realized there was someone else. A woman in a blue jacket. No, not a jacket. It was long, like a light coat. A lab coat. "Lieutenant Reed, I'm Dr. MacCormack, Starfleet Medical. It's good to see you awake. You maybe still be feeling a bit foggy. You're still slightly sedated. You must have had some awful dreams or memories. You were starting to give that new heart a workout." She lightly touched his chest, through the blanket. "It's still new to the neighborhood. You need to be gentle with it while it gets settled in." She stood back up. "How do you feel otherwise?" 

Malcolm took a moment to answer. He checked in with all of the things that had hurt before. He was kind of sleepy but the only pain he felt was muted. Probably pain meds if he'd just had surgery. He could breathe easier, move his fingers. "Better." 

"Do you think you'd like to sit up a bit?" 

He nodded. 

She adjusted the pillows behind him and he fell halfway back, not onto his back but still turned partially toward Trip. Then she took a controller from somewhere near the bed. The top of the bed began to rise until he was half sitting up, half leaning back onto the pillows. 

He could see more now. The door to his room was open, and people in and out of uniforms and white lab coats went back and forth beyond it. There was a tall, leafy plant in the corner. Near the ceiling, there was a screen. A short brown sofa rested against the wall behind Trip. 

"We have you on some good pain medicine. You can push this button, though, if the pain gets worse or something doesn't feel right. If you need anything." She pointed to a red button on the controller. "This controls the screen." Now she pointed to a group of buttons near the top of the controller. "And these control the bed." Those controls were on the bottom. She tucked the controller into a pocket on the side of the bed. 

Part of him wanted to panic with the beeps and the tube he realized was taped to his left arm. But this room was so different from the lab and even Sickbay that he felt calmer at the same time. 

"Are you hungry?" the doctor asked. 

He realized he was. Thirsty, too. "Yes." 

"I'll send in some gelatin. Gotta start simple, work up to the bigger stuff." She touched his arm then backed away. "I'll let you and your friend get reacquainted for a bit then I'll check in on you again." She walked out the door. 

Trip leaned toward him. "You're a VIP, ya know. You rated the CMO herself." 

"When?" he asked Trip. 

Trip didn't let the brevity of the question faze him. "We got into town two nights ago. Surgery was yesterday morning. It's now Tuesday morning, twenty-three days since we left _Enterprise._ " 

Malcolm lifted one of his hands again and opened and closed his fingers. "Yesterday?" 

Trip smiled. "Yeah. They plugged in some new nerves then put your wrists back together. Doc says they'll still need time to heal. But you should be able to walk a bit on those ankles in a day or two." 

_Hoshi,_ he tried again. He wanted to tell her it worked. He had a new heart, he could move his fingers. He listened but heard nothing except the sounds in the room. Suddenly his chest hurt. Not a sharp pain like something had come undone. The pulse kept beeping steadily. 

"Malcolm, what's wrong?" Trip moved forward again, taking one of his hands. 

"Hoshi," he breathed. "She's gone." 

Trip relaxed but didn't let go. "It's probably just too far. She's okay. Phlox and the captain won't let anything happen to her. Travis said he'd drop in on her, too, keep her company." 

Malcolm closed his eye and told himself she was there. Just too far. "I don't know how to do this without her," he whispered. A tear trickled from his eye. 

"I know," Trip said. "You both got each other through everything for so long. Probably feels like a piece of you is missing." 

That was what the pain in his chest was. Her absence. 

* * *

Dr. Koy Trevon was walking and reviewing some of his colleague's cases when he stopped suddenly. "Hoshee!" He looked around, wondering who had said it. It had sounded concerned, like someone was calling out in fear. It had sounded so close. No, not close. No one looked as if they were talking to him. No one seemed panicked. Then he realized, it wasn't audible. He'd heard it in his mind. 

He'd only been on Earth a week, but he knew he was the only Betazoid here. And humans, if he remembered correctly, were not known to be particularly telepathic. There were anecdotal reports throughout several centuries of history, but none could be proven. Still, someone had said that word. He was considered fluent in English, as was required by the IME. But he didn't know this word. He stopped a passing orderly. "Excuse me. What kind of word is 'hoshee?'" 

"Sounds like a name," the woman replied, and it made sense to Trevon. He wouldn't be expected to know every name. "Maybe Japanese," the orderly went on. "It's a region here on Earth. Small island, lots of people." 

He thanked her and she moved on. He looked around again. He was in the recovery wing. Blue room, number 36A. Ah, there it was. Lt. Malcolm Reed. He wanted to study the case thoroughly before he introduced himself. Dr. MacCormack had warned him the patient was likely highly traumatized by his ordeal. There was at least a terabyte of records to read up on. Now that he'd noted the room's location, he went on toward the center of the complex. He found the park there to be very relaxing. On the way out, he used the PADD to look up Japan. 

He found a shaded bench and sat down to read. He heard the word one more time, though it sounded more distant and not as panicked. It sound almost excited. But he was engrossed in the reading and tucked it away for another time's rumination. By four in the afternoon, he realized he'd forgotten all about his midday meal. The records for this patient read more like scientific notes on a research subject, though one Dr. Phlox had inserted his own annotations here and there. One of them pointed out a discrepancy in the anesthesia used during 'exploratory' surgeries. The patient would have awoken at some point, still paralyzed but fully conscious for the remainder of the procedure. It was horrific when one stopped looking at it from the perspective of the scientists, whose research notes he was reading. From the subject's point of view, it was torture and vivisection, over the course of multiple months, those consisting of forty days each. The subject had even attempted suicide multiple times after the female of the species was removed. Phlox had noted her as Ens. Sato. 

Dr. Trevon looked up to take a break. He had been sitting in the shade of a tree, but the shade had moved as the sun traversed the sky. He stood and stretched muscles that had been sitting still for too long. He saw some waterfowl in the pond at the center of the park. Birds were chirping in the trees while small mammals with long, furry tails skittered up and down and around them. A few patients were enjoying the park as well as hospital staff on their breaks. 

"There you are!" Trevon turned to see Dr. Caletta approaching. Caletta had been assigned to help him get settled in. Caletta was a likeable sort, friendly and sympathetic. He had a good rapport with his patients. He clapped Trevon on the shoulder. "She gave you the new transplant case, didn't she?" 

Trevon indicated the PADD. "Haven't gotten to that part yet. I'm only about two thirds through it." 

"Dr. Novak told me about his wrists. One-inch thick spikes." He held up a hand to indicate the measurement. 

"I've read worse already," Trevon told him. "But, for some reason, it's classified and I'm not to confer with anyone without Dr. MacCormack's approval." 

Caletta smiled. "She threw you right into the deep end." 

It took Trevon a beat to get the metaphor. "Ah, well, severe trauma was my specialty on Betazed. Just imagine, prolonged torture of the body, physically, and of the mind, telepathically. I've had some really disturbing cases. I find it very satisfying to watch those cases heal in mind and body." 

"You want some coffee?" Calletta asked. 

"That and some food," Trevon replied, placing a hand on his stomach. "I've apparently missed 'lunch.'" 

Calleta's eyebrows went up. "Whoa, and you're only two-thirds through it. If you don't take a break you won't eat until breakfast tomorrow." 

Trevon chuckled. "Lead on, then. I'm famished." 

"So what's it like?" Caletta asked as they walked back inside, "going from a planet full of telepaths to one where there aren't any?" 

_Perhaps, and perhaps not,_ Trevon thought. "Much quieter," he answered aloud. 

* * *

Trip had had to leave to meet with R&D about the EM field Malcolm had stabilized a few years back. Malcolm didn't feel snubbed. He was too tired and, frankly, weak to deal with R&D. Besides, he trusted Trip not to take all the credit. Trip had said R&D had asked for him and that Trip was just a stand-in. 

But once Trip was gone, Malcolm felt less safe, less able to keep his memories from pushing into the present. Every time he started to doze off or one of the surgeons—four of them had apparently been involved—came to check on their handiwork, his skin started to crawl and the beeps on the machine came quicker. That prompted and influx of sedative which, while it didn't put him to sleep, made it harder to think straight and remember that he was on Earth and not Sharu. 

It was easier with Dr. MacCormack. Maybe because she was a woman. No one he'd run into in Zheiren had been female. Some of the nurses who checked on him more frequently were women, too. It helped. He preferred them to the men. 

The gelatin he was given kept him less hungry but he never quite felt full. It did, however, make him feel less thirsty. To try and occupy his mind with something other than horrible memories or the absence of Hoshi, he'd turned on the screen. As he scrolled through the offerings, he found an ironic choice. The Lord of the Rings trilogy from the early twenty-first century, all fifteen hours or so of the Extended Edition. So he started the first one and tried to lose himself in the story to keep his mind from wandering. 

Trip returned in the early evening. Malcolm paused the movie so Trip could tell him about his meeting with R&D. 

"They're really excited about the EM field," Trip told him. "And kind of embarrassed they didn't come with a way to stabilize it themselves." 

"'Necessity is the mother of invention,'" Malcolm quoted. It was a little easier now to talk. "We needed to block the web from expanding." 

"Right," Trip agreed. "So now they think they can adapt it to lots of things, like brig doors or quarantine facilities. Anything with a frame. But Admiral Issu's got bigger plans. He has challenged them to put it to protecting ships by 2160." 

"That's a big leap," Malcolm commented. "The frame balances the field from all four directions. It can't bend to wrap around a ship." 

"Yep." Trip sat on the small sofa and leaned back, crossing his ankles in front of him. "I'm not even sure an EM field is the right technology. It's relatively weak. It could hold off the web creature and you used a phase pistol to test it. But could it stop a torpedo?" 

"Or a directed energy weapon like our plasma cannons?" Malcolm remembered tweaking and testing the field back on _Enterprise._ It seemed like a million years ago, another life. 

"So that's what's buzzing at R&D now. Brainstorming applications of the EM field technology and trying to come up with something to wrap around a starship. I get to stay for a couple of weeks and help with that. We may even come back with _Enterprise_ for some upgrades by the time the mission is over." 

"Or get the materials to upgrade on the fly," Malcolm suggested. "Better than being stuck in space dock." 

Trip shrugged. "I don't know. It would give Hoshi time to see her family, and a certain Tactical Officer I happen to know." 

"I'll still be here?" Malcolm had thought he'd go back with Trip, let Phlox take over his care again once he'd recovered enough. 

"You're stuck here for a while, Malcolm." Trip leaned forward. "You still have a lot of healing to do." He smiled playfully. "And frankly, Lieutenant, you're out of shape." 

"A vain attempt to slow them down," Malcolm told him. 

The smile disappeared. "I'm sorry it didn't work. 'Course, then you weren't really able to exercise all that much anyway." 

Malcolm shook his head. "Even if I'd had been in the best shape of my life, I couldn't have fought them off." 

Trip nodded. "I've seen 'em," he admitted. "The ones with the teeth anyway. And Bayzhoo. He had a friend besides you. He showed us where you were. He showed us Bayzhoo first." 

"Think he was one of the smaller ones." Malcolm remembered a face in the window of the door to his room. "T-Rex was one of the big ones. Killed Bayzhoo." He didn't realize his hand had gone to his neck. T'Rex's fingers were wrapped around it, squeezing, lifting him like nothing more than a rag doll. 

"No Lord of the Rings codename for that one?" 

* * *

Malcolm didn't reply. He had a faraway haunted look. "Malcolm?" Trip tried again. "Are you still with me?" He stood up. 

One of the machines started beeping madly. By the time Trip made it to the bed, Malcolm's eyes were rolling up under his lids. The beeping slowed and Malcolm passed out. 

Trip realized that must have been a particularly bad memory he'd gotten lost in. Trip wished he'd gotten to see some of the stuff Phlox had seen. What had T'Rex done that terrified Malcolm so much that the sedative put him to sleep instead of just slowing him down? 

Trip turned to go back to the loveseat and was surprised to see Dr. MacCormack in the doorway. "That must have been a bad one." She leaned against the door frame. "I was hoping you being here would make that less likely." 

Trip frowned, unsure of her intent. Was she just teasing or would she tell him he'd have to leave. "What he's been through isn't going to go away just because I'm here," he countered. 

"No, it isn't." She came further into the room. "What led up to it?" 

Trip wasn't sure he could trust her, but she probably had everything Phlox had seen anyway. "Did you know he deliberately weakened his body in an attempt to slow the surgeries?" 

"No." She went to the chair and turned it to face Trip before sitting down. "My notes—and there are many—are from the scientists' perspective with certain annotations by Dr. Phlox. My guess is they didn't feel it warranted postponing." 

"Well, he said he couldn't have fought them anyway. I said I'd seen one of the toothy ones. He said it was a small one. Mentioned a big one he called T-Rex. He touched his neck." 

MacCormack thought for a moment. "One Colonel Zhenah, a Raptor, started intervening in the later weeks. At one point, the plan called for seeing if the 'alien' could breathe underwater." 

"Oh shit!" Trip dropped his head into his hands. "He's aquaphobic. They drowned him, didn't they?" 

"With Zhenah's involvement, it wasn't as scientific as the Wingeds would have it. He shocked them with his cruelty. Apparently, he grabbed the 'subject' by his neck and threw him toward a tank of water, then he pushed him into it and held him down. One hand was apparently big enough to wrap all the way around the subject's neck, leaving puncture wounds from his claws. Once revived, the subject scrambled under a bed like a wild animal." 

Trip sighed, picturing one of those bigger than the ones he'd seen. That one's hand had hardly been bigger than Trip's. But big enough to wrap around Malcolm's neck? Holding him under water? "They didn't know it by they used his worst fear against him." 

"So that was arguably one of the worst memories," MacCormack surmised. "Perhaps avoid talk of the 'toothy' ones for now. It's good for him to talk about what happened, but he just got that heart." She touched his shoulder as she got up. "Sedative should ease up after fifteen minutes. He'll probably wake up in an hour or so. Good time for you to grab a bite to eat, perhaps." 

Trip nodded. He was hungry. He looked up at her. "He used codenames for the others. One name Bayzhoo, he called Smeagol." 

"Ah yes!" She smiled. "I caught the Tolkien vibe when he called himself Samwise Gamgee under narcotics and proceeded to launch into twelve different languages to tell the story of his quest to destroy the One Ring. His profile didn't mention him being a linguist." 

Trip didn't reply to that. He had promised. Besides, he didn't think Malcolm's telepathy could affect his health one way or the other. Dr. MacCormack didn't need to know. "I think you're right about getting a bite. I wouldn't want to eat a burger in front of him when he's stuck with gelatin. He likes pineapple, by the way. They got that flavor?" 

"I'll look into it," she said. "Thanks for the intel." She took out a scanner and moved toward Malcolm's bed so Trip left and turned toward the canteen. 

* * *

Dr. Trevon kept reading, right through dinner and on into the night. He was sure Lt. Reed was going to be one of the most traumatized clients he'd ever worked with. And he'd worked with some incredibly severe cases. 

He once had a young woman of twenty-nine, whose father had kept her hidden in a bunker under his basement, drugging her food to curtail her telepathy and her reproduction capacities. She was raped hundreds of times in secret and no one had any clue she was even down there or that the bunker existed at all. Even her mother hadn't known what had become of her daughter, lost at the age of seventeen. Her father had played the grieving father to a tee. Police had surmised that she must have been murdered since no one had heard from her even telepathically since her disappearance. But as no body was found, the case went unresolved for a dozen years. 

Only a bout of illness brought an end to her abuse and imprisonment. As she was unable to eat, the concentrations of the drugs in her system dropped and everyone within a two-kilometer radius had heard her screams in their minds. Her telepathic ravings got her out of the basement and into an asylum. It took four years of working with her, daily at first, to bring about a level of healing. She'd never be a full-fledged member of society. She had a deep distrust of older men. Trevon had left her in the custody of her doting mother three years ago. He transferred her to a female therapist for long-term care. Her father was still in prison and expected to remain so for many more years. 

Malcolm Reed would never get that kind of justice for the wrongs done to him. He was rescued from Zheiren, and Zheiren presumably went on without him, confused but ultimately, unpunished. Though he had only spent one year there and not twelve, it had been agonizingly painful even when the scientists hadn't intended that to be the case. His treatment had eventually devolved into outright torture and a hideous death sentence carried out in the desert from which he was extracted. 

With one exception, the last part of the data he'd been given changed wholly to Dr. Phlox's records. He noted the anesthesia discrepancy again and the precarious condition of the patient before and after his near-death on _Enterprise_ after his parents had ordered him removed from life support. Trevon made a note to explore that. It seemed odd to Phlox that they hadn't wanted to see their son and were so quick to give up on him. Trevon agreed. 

But it was Phlox's last note that stood out to him. The patient had been sharing a quiet breakfast with one Ensign Hoshi Sato when he suffered an infarction. The determination was made that he needed a new heart so he was sent to Earth for transplant. The last notes were from Dr. MacCormack detailing all the transplants he'd received and the positive prognosis resulting. 

Ensign Sato's given name was Hoshi and she had been with the patient in the beginning. 'Hoshee.' His patient, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed was the source of the word, the name. He was the telepath. 


	5. Chapter Five

**Star Trek: Enterprise  
Finding Home**  
by Philippe de la Matraque  
Sequel to _Alien Us_

**Chapter Five**

Dr. Koy Trevon read the notes from the overnight doctor on his new patient. Lt. Malcolm Reed had spent most of the night sedated. Nightmares, dreaming memories. Only something that increased his pulse significantly would cause that. 

It wasn't surprising at all that someone who had survived such a harrowing series of ordeals would have dreams about those ordeals at night. There was no real treatment for that beyond treating the post-traumatic stress in its entirety. The only people he'd ever met who didn't suffer nightmares were lucid dreamer. But, as yet, he'd found no way to teach a non-sleeping person to do anything while they slept. They'd have to already have the ability to think cognitively while still dreaming just to remember to attempt to do just that. Trevon's sister had lucked into it one night when she was thirteen and him eleven. She had tried to teach him, but, unsurprisingly, it had never worked. 

So, there was nothing to be done yet about Reed's nightmares. Well, nothing beyond contacting him telepathically while he was sleeping. That was problematic on several fronts, first of which was the ethical one. That would be considered a violation without prior consent. Second was the logistical front. Trevon needed to sleep as well. He could not patrol Reed's dreams all night and be rested. And third was the lucidity front. If he hoped to get sleep and rest himself, that patrol would need to happen while he himself was dreaming, and he'd have to be lucid to do so. And he'd never been able to do that. 

Trevon thought of asking Dr. MacCormack to tone down the sedative or the sensitivity of the device which triggered it, but the lieutenant was just two days out from a very major surgery in which his new heart had been transplanted. So Trevon decided to just ask for a timetable as to when Reed might be weaned off the sedative to face his past. That would be required in therapy if he was ever to free of the control it had over him. 

Still, he planned to introduce himself to the lieutenant today, after his friend left. While they could not yet discuss anything particularly triggering, without Reed losing consciousness, trust needed to be established first anyway. And Trevon was not exactly sure how to go about it. He had had a few non-Betazoid patients since entering the Exchange. Setting ground rules for when and how he might use his telepathic abilities with his patients' agreement as well as assuring them what he would under no considerations do with his telepathy had worked at the outset to set the other patients at ease. 

But here, his patient was telepathic in a species not known to be so. Would Reed be put at ease by a fellow telepath and be tempted to use a less physically taxing form of communication? Or would he raise his guard in fear of being probed or studied for the oddity that he was? Trevon had read Reed's psychological evaluation upon joining Starfleet. It noted his deep sense of privacy and reticence to share details of a personal nature. Add trauma and Trevon felt that favored the fear response. 

Still, Trevon knew he'd have to tell Reed the truth. Trust could not be built on a foundation of deception. Trevon could not pretend to be a non-telepath any more than he could pretend to be human. Aliens (or natives when Reed was the alien) had hurt him deeply and repeatedly. Admitting Trevon was an alien might widen an already sizeable gulf between them. He could only hope that honesty would bridge that gap and that the telepathy would eventually become something they had in common, and not a hindrance on either side. 

* * *

Malcolm felt extra groggy while Trip told him about his evening with his parents. He hadn't slept well and had had very disturbing dreams that led from one to another until morning came suddenly. He found out after breakfast (more gelatin but at least in pineapple flavor) that the sedative had put him out several times. Unconsciousness and sleep were two very different things. 

Still, he listened and followed loosely what Trip was saying about his mother and father. What Malcolm heard was a family foreign to him. One with love and acceptance, communication and respect. Well, not totally foreign. Malcolm remembered a time when things had been different, when he was his father's favored son. The time before he was drowned and became aqua phobic. 

He nodded off now and then. Trip didn't seem to mind. He just kept talking. And his voice kept the worse of the memories away as Malcolm dozed. 

"Oh, did I tell you I met your sister?" 

Malcolm perked up at that. "How? When?" 

"She called a couple times on the way here," Trip answered. "And she stopped in to see you the night we arrived. She was very concerned about you. But she said she was sick so maybe she doesn't want you to catch it." 

"Sick with what?" Malcolm hadn't spoken to Maddie in years, it seemed. 

"She never said. She didn't look all that sick." Trip looked a little puzzled but shook it off. "Anyway, I was struck by how you two seemed like total opposites of each other. You have dark hair, she's very blonde. You're quiet, reserved, shall we say. She's friendly and somewhat chatty. She smiled a lot more than you do." 

_She was my one support,_ Malcolm thought to himself. Maybe she'd visit once she got over whatever was ailing her. "Anyone else visit?" he asked. "My parents?" 

Trip sighed and steepled his fingers. "Not yet. But, you know, it's only been a couple days." 

It sounded like an excuse and an attempt at optimism. Malcolm didn't know why he still let his hopes get up. His father had thus far dashed them at every other turn. 

When Trip left at lunchtime—mashed potatoes with gravy this time—he felt very lonely. Without Hoshi, Maddie, or his parents, Trip was his only link to a world beyond the hospital. And he so wanted to be beyond the hospital. 

He turned on the screen and picked up where he'd left off with The Fellowship of the Ring. It was almost over. The fellowship were in boats traveling down the Anduin. The sundering was coming. 

Just as soon as the credits started to roll a new visitor appeared. He wore a suit of a style Malcolm didn't recognize. He looked normal otherwise. He was tall and thin with a kind expression. He had sandy-colored hair but very dark eyes. 

The man closed the door, which set the machine to beeping a little faster. Malcolm tried to tell himself there was nothing to fear here in Starfleet Medical. Instead of coming toward him, however, the man sat on the short sofa where Trip had been. 

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant," he began. "I'm Dr. Koy Trevon and I was hoping we could meet today. I am not a medical doctor. I fear you've met a few too many of them lately. I'm a therapist. I work with people who, like you, have been through harrowing, and traumatic, experiences. I was hoping you and I might work together on your trauma." 

The beeps settled down a bit. The fear abated. But Malcolm wasn't sure what kind of work they'd be doing. He'd never made use of a therapist before, but Hoshi had told him he should have had one after the drowning and that he needed to talk to someone about what had happened. 

"I think it important to begin with honesty," Trevon went on. "While I may resemble your people, humans, in appearance, I am not human." 

Malcolm wasn't sure if that was honest. It was only his eyes that looked strange. 

"You may have noticed my eyes," Trevon said. "They seem to be my most telling feature. On my world, eyes like mine are incredibly common. But they do set some here at unease. I come from a world called Betazed. My people are Betazoids. And we differ in one other major characteristic. We are all telepaths. Were you aware that you, too, are a telepath?" 

The machine's beeps increased. Malcolm tried willing his heart to calm down. This man was still in the room. He couldn't afford to be groggy now. 

Trevon nodded. "It seems you are. Please allow me to try and set your mind at ease. In a world of telepaths, it's important to have laws and rules about how one can and should use that ability. We primarily use it to communicate with those close to us, the same as talking to one another, just without using our voices. It's quite illegal and highly unethical to use that ability to probe another's mind without permission. So you see, I have no intention of reading your mind." 

How did he know? Had Phlox put it in his medical records? Then why hadn't MacCormack said anything? Trip? No, Trip had promised. 

"That said, I cannot not hear what you project," Trevon continued. "Yesterday morning, I was passing by." He pointed toward the door. "I heard a word, said in panic. I didn't recognize the word and it didn't appear to have come from anyone in the corridor. Then I realized it hadn't been audible. I heard it one more time that day. No longer panicked, it sounded more in wonder. I had asked a passing orderly what the word might have meant. She informed me it was a name, a Japanese name: Hoshi." 

Malcolm realized he had told this Trevon just by trying to reach Hoshi. But, in his defense, he hadn't known there was another telepath in the building. 

"In reading the copious notes on your last year, I came across the name Hoshi Sato. You and she had been marooned on the planet Sharu together. And when I looked her up and found she was a renowned linguist, it all came together. You would not have known twelve languages, nor have the mental power, at the time, to use them while you were so drugged. She passed them to you. You used your telepathy to communicate with her even after she disappeared. Where did she go?" 

Malcolm glared with his one good eye. "Who are you going to tell?" 

"No one," Trevon was quick to say. "I'm your therapist. What is said between us while that door is closed, remains between us. Everything you say is purely confidential. Besides I have no desire to further traumatize you by opening you up to being studied as an oddity. I daresay you've had more than your share of that." 

Malcolm took a few deep breaths. The beeps calmed slightly. He wasn't sure he trusted this man yet but he believed in Hoshi. She said he needed to talk. So he decided to answer Trevon's questions for now. "The other side of the planet." 

Trevon's dark eyes widened and he leaned back in surprise. "That's astonishing! My range is only a few kilometers, and I've been doing this my entire adult life. We don't come into our telepathy, you see, until we're well on our way to puberty. Can you imagine a mess of five-year-olds with this ability? They'd drive their parents insane. They struggle enough with teenagers." Trevon chuckled. "When did you realize you could communicate with your mind?" 

Malcolm kept his answers short. "Sharu." 

"Oh!" Trevon leaned forward. "That recently? Did you try to communicate with the scientists at all? You could have told them, for instance, that you were conscious...." 

Malcolm shook his head. "If we let them know we could understand them, they would have forced us to answer questions we couldn't answer." 

"Even when they did that anyway?" Trevon asked. 

"I didn't understand them," Malcolm told him. "I listened to her." He kept his guard up but so far Trevon had not pushed too hard into things he didn't want to remember or think about. 

Trevon nodded. "That was brilliant, by the way. A lie couched in a dozen languages. They'll never work out the truth. A marriage of your tactical mind and her linguistic genius, no doubt. I'm impressed. How did she know when they were asking questions? Did you repeat them to her?" 

That was easy. "She could hear them." 

"She could hear through your ears?" 

"You can't do that on Betazed?" Malcolm asked. 

"No," Trevon answered. "Though to be honest, I can't think that I've ever tried. It was not covered in our training." 

Malcolm was a little confused. "To be a therapist?" 

"To be a telepath." Trevon relaxed a bit. "It's so common that we learn how to use it in school. There are classes where we learn to target our inner voice rather than to broadcast it widely. Except, of course, when we need to, for example in an emergency, or when giving a speech, or teaching a class. We learn to shield ourselves as well. As there are on any planet, there are those who do not wish to conform to societal norms, who wish to use their abilities to harm others. Have you learned to allow some communication and to block others?" 

"Not exactly." Malcolm realized he was intrigued. This man had been a telepath for years and talked about it as if it was entirely normal. "She was the only one to hear me. But sometimes, I didn't want her to hear or see. I would close off those channels." 

Trevon smiled. "And see? May I ask how you close off those channels?" 

"A console," Malcolm told him. "A mental construct to focus on what we wanted to do or not do." 

"Obviously a useful construct," Trevon commented. "And now, you have someone else who can hear you. I've never tried to reach someone I couldn't. Why do you think she could hear you when others couldn't?" 

"She has exceptional hearing," Malcolm replied. "She was receptive to another telepath we met before. No one else in our crew was." 

"Even you. May I try a simple greeting?" 

Malcolm nodded. Malcolm watched him carefully. His mouth never moved. But the voice he heard in his head said, "Hello, Lieutenant. May I call you Malcolm?" 

_Do I call you Koy?_ Malcolm asked in return. 

Trevon smiled again. His mouth moved again as well and Malcolm heard him with his ears. "If you wish, though my friends usually call me Trevon." 

"Are you supposed to get me to talk about all the horrible things that happened to me," Malcolm asked him aloud in return. 

"We'll need to talk about those in time," Trevon answered. "But I prefer to get to know one another a bit first. Besides, revisiting those things will be stressful, and, at present, we need to avoid stressing you overmuch. May I ask if you've experienced any flashbacks since we've been talking?" 

Malcolm hadn't realized it before, but Trevon had never morphed into one of the orcs the way some of the male nurses and doctors had. "No," he replied. He thought maybe it was the novelty of meeting another telepath that kept his mind in the present. 

"It would seem to me that your telepathy was not, then, part of those 'horrible things' and that your communications with Hoshi Sato were, instead, a pleasant counterpoint to those very 'trying' events." 

That pain in his chest reasserted itself. He missed her so much. She would have helped him navigate this new experience. Not just another telepath, but a therapist. Still, he didn't trust this Trevon that much yet. So he just nodded. 

"I'm glad you had that, Malcolm," Trevon said with no amusement. "In some ways, it likely protected you. Prolonged isolation can lead to madness, but you weren't alone. Prolonged imprisonment and even abuse can lead to a certain affinity with one's captors. I believe on Earth it is called Stockholm syndrome. I take it you had no such affinity for the people of Zheiren." 

"Only one," Malcolm admitted. "He was killed for it." 

"He was the one that aided you, gave you the communicator." It wasn't said as a question. 

"His name was Bayzhoo," Malcolm told him. 

"I am sorry for his death," Trevon offered. "Tell me, have you ever had therapy before?" 

"Never." He remembered Hoshi saying he should have had it after the drowning. Would have life have been different if he had? "How does it work? I could show you what I experienced." 

"Images? Scenes? Memories?" Trevon asked. "Amazing! Can you show me what they look like, without tripping that sedative?" 

Malcolm imagined the console and mentally turned Video on. Then he concentrated on a memory of Bayzhoo when he secretly gave him a bit of water during the heat experiments. 

"So that's a Winged," Trevon commented. "I understand now why they were called that. Would a Raptor be too taxing?" 

Malcolm pulled up the memory of the guard's face looking through the window of his door. When the face was gone, he closed off Video. He didn't want to remember any more. "Can you help me forget?" 

"Thank you for showing me who we're dealing with." Trevon put his elbows on his knees. "Therapy isn't about forgetting, Malcolm. It's about freeing yourself from the power those memories have over you. One of your planet's philosophers, John Paul Sartre, had a quote I'm particularly fond of: 'Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.'" 

Malcolm didn't feel so fond. What was that supposed to mean? "Just what is it I'm supposed to do with that they did to me?" 

"That," Trevon answered, "is what you need to discover through therapy. And, no, I don't want you to share anymore images, though I'm fascinated that you can. Your telepathy and mine are very different. But even with my Betazoid patients, trauma tends to heal best when worked through via verbal communication. There's power in saying it. Telepathy tends to offer a barrier. It allows us to hide from our feelings more easily. It's much harder to keep those feelings from our voices. I've had a look at your psychological evaluation upon joining Starfleet. You don't talk much about yourself, it seems." 

Malcolm wasn't surprised that he'd read the psych eval, and, of course it was right. Trip would say it was an understatement. Hoshi had said he needed to talk, but it was so alien to him that he wasn't sure he could." 

"What are you thinking?" Trevon asked. 

"You can't tell me?" Malcolm tested. 

"That would be unethical," Trevon told him. "Telepathy can be a tool in therapy but its uses would have to be agreed to by you. The only times I've used it without permission is when my patients were so traumatized as to be locked inside their own minds. That doesn't describe you. Would you read my mind without permission?" 

Malcolm shook his head. "Maybe if you were a threat to my ship. But I don't even know if I could." 

"Let's not try it just yet, though I don't think I could be more surprised than I am by what you can already do." Trevon leaned back. "Do you want to know what I think?" 

Malcolm nodded, relieved to let him go first. 

Trevon stood and moved to the chair, bringing it to halfway between the bed and the sofa. "I think," he said, "you're no stranger to trauma. Something 'painful' happened, and, without therapy, you closed yourself off, hid away your true self in response. Because if no one can know you, they can't hurt you." 

The machine began to beep a little faster. Trevon backed away. "I won't ask you to share that hurt." He held his hands up. "Not today." He patted his chest where his heart was—if it was in the same place as a human's. "But it's your turn. What were you thinking?" 

"She told me to talk to someone," Malcolm whispered. 

"I like her already." Trevon smiled again, lightly this time. "You told her that particular hurt, didn't you?" 

Malcolm kept his one eye locked on Trevon's two dark ones. "We told each other lots of things." 

"So you've had a little practice opening up." Trevon nodded. "That's good." 

"What about you?" Malcolm asked, wanting to even things up. "Why do you do this?" 

"Therapy?" Trevon did seem to smile a lot. "It is what I've done with what's been done to me." 

Malcolm considered that. It appeared trauma wasn't a stranger to Trevon either. 

"And as trust is a 'two-way street', as you human's say, I'll tell you what was done to me." Malcolm hadn't expected that at all. "When I was thirteen, just beginning to come into my telepathy, my physical education instructor asked me to stay after school. He told me he'd seen what I had done, which confused and frightened me as I didn't remember having done anything untoward. Once we were alone, he assaulted my mind with horrible stories and threats to harm my parents, my younger brother if I didn't do what he said. If I didn't let him do what he did. He molested me. Raped me. You recall we have to learn how to shield ourselves. I hadn't learned that yet. He took advantage and told me all sorts of terrible things he would do if I told anyone." 

Malcolm felt uncomfortable but also horrified for Trevon. He hated to even think about those particular incidents but even then, no one had invaded his mind. 

"My parents realized something was off about me," Trevon went on. "I had become sullen, quiet. My schoolwork had suffered. They took me to a therapist. When I wouldn't talk, she did something I didn't expect. She started a very loud noise, mostly static. And I couldn't hear him anymore. But I could hear her voice. The timbre of was different, higher pitched and feminine. I heard her in my mind, telling me I was safe now, that he wouldn't know." 

"How did she know," Malcolm asked, "without reading your mind?" 

"She didn't." There he was smiling again. Malcolm didn't understand how he could smile telling a story like that. "An educated guess. When I couldn't hear his voice anymore, I thought, maybe, just maybe, I could trust her. So I told her." He tapped his forehead. "But she couldn't hear me through that white noise. My telepathic voice sounded more like my spoken voice now than that of a prepubescent boy whose voice was changing all the time. I had to say it aloud. And when I did, and she didn't shame me, I felt a weight fall off my shoulders. I was still embarrassed, confused, and hurt, but I was no longer under his power." 

"Did they catch him?" Malcolm asked. 

Trevon nodded. "Oh yes. He was dealt with. He's still incarcerated today, and has to wear a device on his head that stops his telepathy. I wasn't the only one. It took a lot more time and meetings with her before I could tell this story without my hands shaking." He held them out to show they were steady. "I decided I wanted to help people the way she helped me." 

Malcolm was confused. "Just by talking? How does that work?" 

"Did it help you cope when you talked to Hoshi?" 

"We helped each other," he admitted. "Told each stories when...." He couldn't say it. 

"When bad things happened?" Trevon finished for him. "But did it help you when you told her that story? That hurt?" 

Malcolm thought back. He had been scared of her reaction when he told her, but she hadn't thought any less of him at all. Not even when he told what he'd done two years later. And her acceptance of him still had made it easier to open up to her more. He nodded. 

"I could tell you about trauma and neuropathways, but, in layman's terms, it's a bit like magic," Trevon concluded. "When we bring our hurts out into the open, we can look at them in a different light. We can learn to move past them, to find out way back to living without the fear and the shame. Those hurts move from constantly being in our present, where they continue to cause us pain, into the past where they belong. We might even find out that we're stronger for having survived and taken our power back. I know that my story, my acquaintance with that pain, makes me better able to empathize with others who are still suffering from it." He stood and walked to the door. It opened. But he turned back before leaving. "I can help you, Malcolm, if you let me. May I come again?" 

Malcolm was still confused. Magic? But he nodded. Trevon left and a nurse entered. A woman, at least. She checked his bandages and the machines, took his blood pressure and the like. He ignored her and let her do what she needed to do. He had a lot to think about. 

* * *

Trip left the folks at R&D, thinking it wouldn't be a bad department to semi-retire to if he ever got tired of being in the stars. The men and women he was working with were bright, imaginative, and forward thinking. The whole department was broken down into different teams. Some worked on defense, others weapons, and still others were in any of number of teams working on improvements to protein resequencing, sanitation, anti-gravity, warp engines, and even sonic showers. Trip wasn't so sure he wanted to wash off a day's sweat and grime with sound alone. But then again, it would help conserve water. 

Trip entered Starfleet Medical hoping Malcolm had managed to have a decent nap. He hadn't had a very restful night. He was groggy and half out of it in the morning. 

He was surprised to find Malcolm sitting awake in his bed with a pensive expression. The screen was off so it wasn't because of what he was watching. "Something happen while I was away?" 

"Close the door, please." Malcolm waved toward the door. 

That was different. Trip started to get concerned but he closed the door then went to the chair. He moved it closer to the bed but around Malcolm's knees so he didn't have to contort sideways. "What's up?" 

"I met my assigned therapist today." Even with the door closed, Malcolm had kept his voice down. 

"Oh." That wasn't so bad, well, except that this was Malcolm. You pretty much had to have a near-death experience with him to get past his defenses. "You've never talked to one before, have you?" 

"Besides my psych eval?" Malcolm shook his head. "Have you?" 

Trip nodded. "Ya get a good one, and they're worth their weight in gold." 

Malcolm looked confused, his one visible eye-brow drawn low over his eye. "Why'd you need one?" 

"Well, my teen years were a bit rough," Trip admitted. "Peer pressure, bullies.... I fell into some depression. Mom and Dad got me in to see someone." Trip leaned back to get comfortable. "I'd talk about school and how I felt." 

" _You_ were bullied?" 

Malcolm was full of questions today. "Yeah, well, I was one of the smart kids. Sometimes the no-so-smart ones don't like the smart ones because their presence makes 'em feel dumb or something. So they throw their weight around to feel big and powerful. 'Hurt people hurt people,' my therapist liked to say. Maybe they had something going on at home that made them feel powerless. Didn't condone what they did but I could start to guess some reasons behind it, ya know, see they weren't just monsters whose only purpose in life was to torment me. It didn't change the way they treated me, but I stopped feeling depressed about it." He remembered Bobby Letour and started to chuckle. "Actually asked one of 'em if I could help him somehow." 

"What on Earth did he say?" 

"Well," Trip replied, "he broke my nose." 

Malcolm slowly shook his head. "And you can just laugh that off now?" 

Trip shrugged. "Yeah, I mean my nose healed okay. It's not crooked or anything. Besides, when the blood started gushing, he felt kind of bad. Helped me to the school nurse. While she was calling the medics, he and I got to talkin'. His dad was having an affair, and it was just tearing him up inside, wondering if he should tell his mom. After that, if he saw me in the halls, he'd just kind of duck his head like he hadn't. Never harassed me again." 

He got serious to match Malcolm's expression. "How'd your talk with the therapist go?" 

Malcolm locked his one on Trip's face. He didn't even blink. "He's a telepath." 

Trip jerked upright, causing the chair to roll back a few inches. "What? What are the odds?" 

"Everyone on his planet is a telepath." 

"He's an alien." Okay, maybe he was in the same Exchange as Phlox. "Did you guys just...." He moved a finger back and forth from his forehead to Malcolm's. 

"No," Malcolm replied. "Well, just a little. He said I'd actually have to talk." 

"Just a little?" Trip didn't want to let that bit go. 

"He said, 'Hello' and asked if he could call me Malcolm. I showed him Bayzhoo so he could see what they looked like." 

"Huh. You can do that?" Trip knew Malcolm could talk with Hoshi, and they could hear through each other's ears, see through each other's eyes. That sort of thing. But sharing a memory was a new one. To Trip anyway. "Can he do that?" 

Malcolm shook his head. "I don't think so. His is different. More like just talking." 

"Do you even know all you can do with it?" It was still trippy to think Malcolm could do any of it. 

Malcolm shrugged. "They learn how to use it in school," Malcolm told him. "It's just normal. For me, it was just trying something out. We shared sounds, sights, something we could feel." 

"Feel?" Trip tried to wrap his mind around that one. Surely not the surgeries and things like that. "Like what?" 

"She shared the cold with me." He got a faraway look in his eye. 

"That is just incredibly cool, Malcolm!" Trip didn't want Malcolm to get lost in the desert. "When you see each other again, you'll have to try all the senses. Like smell, or taste." 

"How does talking help me heal?" Malcolm asked, changing the subject back to therapy. 

"I don't know," Trip admitted. "I'm an engineer. I just know it helps. Look, I could have used a therapist after Elizabeth died. I might not have bit your head off like I did or carried all that anger when it was really covering for grief. Things like that eat us up. Makes us hurt ourselves whether it's by no sleeping, or the stress or just the anguish of it, ya know. Talking about it with someone, even if it's not a therapist, well, it takes some of the burden off. A therapist can help you understand things ya didn't know ya didn't understand. Like 'hurt people hurt people.'" 

"Hurt people hurt people," Malcolm repeated, testing it out. 

"Oh, another one my therapist liked: 'Bitterness is like takin' a poison and expecting the other guy to die.'" He sat back again as the realization slammed into him. "Oh. That's what I was doin' after Lizzie died." 

"He shared one," Malcolm commented. "'Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.'" 

"He came up with that?" Trip asked. "That's deep." 

Malcolm shook his head. "No, that was John Paul Sartre." 

They sat quietly digesting those bits of wisdom for a while. "I don't think the scientists were hurt people," Malcolm said. "I don't think they meant to hurt us. Not at first, anyway." 

"It was 'for science', then?" Trip commented. "So that one doesn't apply in your case. Not at first anyway. The end came from fear, I think. Fear of what we'd do. Thought they'd scare us off with what they did to you." 

"That's what it was?" Malcolm had that faraway look again. "I couldn't see that from my perspective." 

"We got the Council's notes," Trip told him. "They were all hopped up on testosterone 'cause it was their every-three-years mating time. They feared an alien invasion. And there was a change in leadership from the Wingeds to the toothy ones." 

"That does explain some things," Malcolm said, looking away. "T-Rex starting taking charge, got aggressive. And then Sauron." The beeps started to pick up. 

"Back it up, Malcolm," Trip warned, leaning forward. "Stay here with me." When Malcolm met his gaze again, he tried changing the subject back to therapy. "'Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.' I like that. And your guy isn't even from around here. Give him a try, Malcolm, you just might be surprised at how much better you'll feel." 

* * *

Trevon wrote his notes from his first meeting Lt. Malcolm Reed. He was honestly surprised at how together Reed had seemed. Despite his ordeal, and the fact that he did still suffer from it, he wasn't a broken man. That, however, was not going to help Trevon help him open up. And he was certain something very traumatic had happened to Reed as a young man. Something with lasting ramifications. But the general thinking was that he only had one or two months to get Malcolm Reed back to duty-ready (with ongoing physical and psychological support from Dr. Phlox). He probably wouldn't have time to delve all the way back into Reed's childhood. As it was, he had been consciously vivisected half a dozen times, nearly passed out from heat stroke, exposed to extreme cold, molested on two occasions, tortured and drugged, almost drowned, and finally staked out in a desert sun. That was a lot to ask for one or two months. 

And really no one had yet had a chance to ask Malcolm Reed if he really wanted to return to duty on a starship. Maybe his stay on Sharu would instill a deep fear of what's out there. 

When he finished his report, Trevon began a second, encrypted one. He would have loved to send it to Mr. Pinma, his telepathy instructor. Here was not only a human telepath, but one with abilities seen only in science fiction on Betazed. Pass-through hearing, maybe sight, sharing of mental images, and memories at that. There were neuroscientists that would love to see why Reed's human brain was so different, why he could do all those things, and without any formal training. He'd come into those abilities on Sharu. At some point in his torment, an outstanding development had allowed him to communicate with the only other human who, it would seem, could hear him, somewhere on the other side of the planet. 

But, of course, he would never send this file to Mr. Pinma or anyone else. Reed had been subjected to far too much study already. It would not be ethical to set him up for more scrutiny of that manner, it would be cruel. But his telepathy intrigued Trevon not just for its novelty. But because it seemed to have protected Reed's mind from the worst possible outcomes of his year-long ordeal. Trevon started getting a mental image of a musical piece. Hard, harsh tones and crashing percussion were the base of the piece, but high above that, a descant, a lilting melody, beautiful and calming. A counterpoint, and more so because it was not the telepathy, but the relationship it allowed. He and Sato had helped each other through harrowing trials. Trevon didn't know what she suffered after being removed, but it was even half what Reed had experienced, she would need ongoing help as well. 

It obviously pained Malcolm to be without her. Perhaps they had been more than just helpers. Perhaps they had become very close instead. And perhaps that relationship had protected Reed to a great degree. Trevon only hoped Phlox was serving Hoshi Sato well. He'd noted she was not on Earth recovering. 

There was a knock at his door. He looked up to find Dr. MacCormack in his doorway. "How'd things go with Lt. Reed?" 

Trevon closed the encrypted file. "Relatively well," he replied. "We got to know each other a little. Can't do much without worrying he'll lose consciousness." 

MacCormack nodded and moved further into the room. "We'll let that go in a day or two if that heart keeps doing its job well. I did a little checking. Reed is notorious for being tight-lipped. You're new here. Maybe I shouldn't have foisted him on you. If you'd like to pass him to someone else, I'll understand." 

Trevon smiled. "I don't think it wise to 'change horses mid-stream." 

MacCormack chuckled. "Sorry. Not quite, but I get the point. You up to the challenge?" 

_I'm the only one who can be,_ Trevon thought. That descant was important. "I believe I might have an edge with him—and not because of my species. I'm male, and yet he had no flashbacks while I met with him." 

"So you noticed that, too." She sat down on the other side of his desk. "Seems he only had contact with males of the species." 

"Two species, actually, but yes, all males," Trevon said. He never saw a feminine pronoun in all the reports, unless it referred to Ens. Sato. "It was the reports of Dr. Varnis. His pulse always goes up with a male enters the room, except for his friend, Commander Tucker. The setting, here in a hospital, probably don't help, but the decor in the room mitigates it somewhat. Still he'd be better served mentally if he could be moved to a home health situation as soon as possible." 

"Maybe in a week or so," MacCormack replied. "Glad the decor helps some. That was my idea. At some point, we have to inform him of his donor's identity. I'm hoping you can let us know when would be the best time." 

"Is that customary here?" On Betazed, donors were always kept anonymous unless the donor or their family wanted the identity known. 

"Not usually," MacCormack answered. "Only this time he might realize his sister isn't around anymore." 

"Sister?" Had that man not suffered enough? 

"It was her idea," MacCormack said, holding up a hand. "She was dying of an incurable cancer. Parting gift from the Xindi weapon attack that killed seven million of our people. Left the land contaminated in ways we're still discovering." 

"I assume her heart was not affected," Trevon offered. "I can understand not telling him now, but the timing only gets worse from here. The news now would be devastating. The longer you wait, the more we can add infuriating." 

MacCormack nodded. "Never a good time. She was determined. Her last words were to give him anything she had that he needed, then give the rest to others." 

"It's an incredible gift," Trevon acknowledged. "And I think, eventually, he could come to see it that way. But first, there will be grief. His sister has died." 

"If we told him now," MacCormack asked, "would we risk his physical health?" 

"I believe one of your trauma specialists wrote a book once called _The Body Keeps the Score._ Trauma does manifest in physiological ways. It wasn't direct physical damage that caused him to need a new heart. It was the constant stress of living in that environment added to the direct physical damage. So, yes, absolutely, it could absolutely harm him. In his grief, he may not eat. He may not participate in his own healing. He could, potentially, become suicidal. You are aware he tried multiple times on Sharu." 

"Yes, and I don't blame him," MacCormack asserted. "Faced with the rest of his life being vivisected without Ens. Sato for comfort and companionship. They had no way of knowing they were a year behind. It was a very bleak future. I would have tried to end it." 

Trevon though the probably would have as well. "My main concern," he admitted, "is time. That year was full of assaults to his body and mind. I've only got a month or two to set him right again." 

"Dr. Phlox added to his qualifications last year," MacCormack informed him. "He is Ens. Sato's physician and therapist now. He'll be able to follow up your work with Reed. Just remember, he has to be physically ready for duty before he goes back to _Enterprise_. He spent the better part of that year trying not to be physically fit. He's almost ready to walk himself to the toilet. You have longer than you probably think." She stood. "Right now, he's your only patient. If he's up for it, plan to see him every day while he's here." 

"Yes, ma'am." Trevon stood as she left his office. No, Malcolm Reed wasn't a broken man. But how many more hurts would it take before he cracked? 


	6. Chapter Six

**Star Trek: Enterprise  
Finding Home**  
by Philippe de la Matraque  
Sequel to _Alien Us_

**Chapter Six**

It was late. The Two Towers was on. The battle was about to begin at Helm's Deep. It was an exciting part but Malcolm was exhausted. He wanted to sleep but he was afraid to. Helm's Deep was safer than dreaming himself paralyzed and being cut open, or even just those three fingers reaching for him. 

Since their rescue, Hoshi and he had regularly dreamed together. Guiding each other subconsciously if both were asleep, or consciously, if only one was, to more pleasant dreams. Or at least being together for the more unpleasant dreams. Now, here, he was too far from her. He worried that she was having nightmares, too, but here was no sedative to put a stop to them and rob her of the rest she needed. 

That was the dilemma he was facing. If he slept, he'd dream, and those dreams would be terrible and that would get his new heart overexcited. Then he'd be unconscious for about an hour and start all over again. 

At this point, he'd love one of the annoying recurring dreams when he was in the past on _Enterprise_ and someone would always tell him they weren't there yet. But he'd caught up with the present. Would the dreams just be _Enterprise_ now? Before, he'd actually been on _Enterprise_ during those past events. So would he just be here on Earth, in the hospital? 

In his musings, he'd missed the battle. He switched off the screen. It was no good. He'd have to sleep. Not sleeping would probably stress that heart, too. Right now, he felt sort of hollowed out. He lowered the head of the bed, but not all the way. It reminded him too much of the beds back there. No, he wouldn't think of back there. _Enterprise_. He'd think of _Enterprise_. Deck by deck if need be. 

He closed his eyes and started with the Bridge, the Tactical console. Every display, every light, every button, ever seam in his chair. He went out from there. 

By the time he'd reached the Situation Room, he slipped into sleep. Fortunately for him, dreams didn't occur until later in the sleep cycle, so he managed at least some rest before the images began to reach his mind. And he was on _Enterprise_. Right there on the Bridge. No one else was, though, which he found odd. He left the Bridge and went to Hoshi's quarters. But she didn't answer her door. He tried the Galley, Sickbay, the gym, but Hoshi wasn't there. Phlox wasn't there, the Captain, Travis, the MACOs. No one was on the ship but him. He went back to the Bridge to look at the sensor logs to try and find the crew. But there was nothing on them but static. It was no use. So he went to his quarters where at least he had plenty to read. But when he picked up a book and opened it, the pages were blank. He laid back on the bed and started to memorize the ceiling. Alone on _Enterprise_ was terribly uneventful. 

It wasn't the only dream he had that night, but was the best one. The sedative tipped him into unconsciousness a few times before Trip, and breakfast arrived in the morning. 

* * *

Dr. MacCormack stepped into Lt. Reed's room. He looked tired and haggard, which wasn't surprising given his night. "Good morning, Lieutenant," she offered as a greeting. "How do you feel?" 

"Tired," he replied. "And hungry." 

"Any pain?" 

"Just a bit of an ache in chest," he answered. "Nothing new to me." 

"I understand they kept you in an induced coma for a week after—" 

"I only know I was eventually actually unconscious but I suppose it could have been a week." His pulse increased and he rolled his eye. "I've had nightmares for months," he said. "I can deal with them. But I need sleep." 

"I get it." MacCormack came closer to the bed. "It's that heart we can't risk. May I take a look?" 

Reed pulled back the blanket to reveal his bandaged chest. MacCormack used her scanner to check the heart and the microsutures attaching it to his body. Everything was holding well. There was no bleeding. No signs of bruising. His blood pressure was slightly elevated but that could be due to the post traumatic stress. And the lack of sleep. As she put away the scanner, she covered him again with her other hand. She mused that it seemed his sister's heart was determined to make this work. As much as his sister was. Like she was still looking out for him. 

"Can you flex all your fingers?" she asked him. 

He demonstrated by opening and closing his hands. "They feel a little stiff." 

"You may need some occupational therapy," MacCormack told him. "Even though it was a relatively short time, the disuse and trauma to the nerves caused some atrophy of the muscles. The nerves are working, though. That had to happen first. Your ankles?" 

"They're wrapped so tight, I can't move them much anyway," he said. 

She uncovered his feet. Sorry, but this may feel a little uncomfortable." She used a neural stimulator just below the intermediate dorsal cutaneous nerve and peroneal artery of his right foot. He grunted as his foot jerked. "Now the other." She got the same reaction with the right. Then she covered his feet again. "You wouldn't have even felt that before. It's still early yet, Lieutenant, but you're doing well. I'm going to adjust the sensitivity of the sedative trigger. Maybe that will get you a bit more sleep. How's oatmeal sound for breakfast? 

He shrugged. 

"Not too exciting, huh?" She smiled. "What if I have them put chunks of pineapple in it?" 

He smiled. "I think I could live with that." 

"Your Dr. Phlox did wonders on that sunburn of yours," she commented as she looked over the skin of his face, his arms. "He really brought you back from the brink." 

"Apparently, I came very close to dying," he replied. "Before the heart attack. Rather glad I didn't die." 

MacCormack smiled again. "Me, too. I'll tell them to send your breakfast up." 

* * *

Trip arrived as Malcolm's breakfast did. He didn't look any better rested. But his breakfast was definitely a step up from gelatin. Oatmeal from the look of it. "Things are looking up on the food front, huh?" 

"If oatmeal with dehydrated pineapple is looking up," Malcolm responded. "Still, at least they added the pineapple." 

Trip sat back on the loveseat and propped one leg over the other knee. "Before you know it you'll be at eggs and bacon." 

Malcolm took a long swig of milk. "Doc turned down the sedative this morning. I might actually get some sleep tonight." 

"Something else to look forward to," Trip commented. 

"Except that all my dreams are horrible," Malcolm added. "Still, at least it's sleep. Anyone who thinks unconsciousness is restful is highly mistaken." 

Trip nodded. "More like skipping time, huh?" 

Malcolm nodded and put his empty glass back on the tray. He grimaced and sat back again. "Used to it," Malcolm answered. "Lost count how many times my chest has been cracked open." 

Trip sincerely hoped he'd soon be unused to it. It still horrified him to think what that was like for Malcolm—and Hoshi—to wake up while being cut open and unable to move at all. He didn't want to leave the conversation there. "You given any more thought to talkin' to your therapist." 

"He said he'd come by again today if I didn't object." Malcolm yawned. "I didn't object." 

"It'll be good for ya, I promise." Trip picked up a PADD. "Got a lot of tech specs to go over before I head to R&D today. Mind if I read 'em aloud?" 

Malcolm lowered the head of the bed a bit. "I'd love to hear it." 

Trip chuckled. He know Malcolm would take the opportunity to sleep. He'd dozed off the day before. Trip had noticed the pulse monitor kept up a steady beep. So he made a sure to grab a very lengthy, very technical manual. If his voice kept Malcolm's dreams a little more normal, he'd read until his voice broke. 

* * *

Trevon approached room 36A. The door was open and Trevon could see the patient asleep in his bed. His friend, likewise, appeared to be sleeping. His head was tipped back on the back of the sofa. Trevon knocked a bit harder on the door than he normally would. 

The reaction was just want he wanted. The friend bolted upright. Malcolm stirred. 

"Oh, God," the friend checked the time. "I'm late." 

And that woke Malcolm up for real. Trevon entered the room. "You must be Commander Tucker." He offered a hand to the friend. 

"Uh, yeah," Tucker said. He took the hand. "And you are?" 

"Dr. Koy Trevon," Trevon offered, giving the hand a quick shake. "I don't mean to keep you. I was hoping Lt. Reed and I might have a conversation." 

"Oh!" Tucker reacted. "Uh, yeah." He turned to Malcolm, who looked with interest at the tray beside the bed, which now held a sandwich, a bowl of yellow fruit and a glass of water. He grimaced lightly as he sat up. 

"I'll see ya later, Malcolm." Tucker waved on his way out. 

"Please," Trevon insisted, closing the door, "enjoy your lunch." He sat down opposite Reed on the sofa. "How was your rest, Malcolm? It seems Commander Tucker has a calming effect on you." 

Reed took a moment to swallow. "If you mean his voice, while reading a long technical manual, keeps the nightmares at bay, it rings true thus far. He must have noticed me dozing off yesterday." 

"He's a good friend," Trevon remarked. "You needed the rest. Dr. MacCormack tells me the threshold for your sedative has been raised. She said you'd rather have nightmares." 

"I've lived with them for nearly a year," was Reed's answer. "I still had to sleep there, too." 

Trevon nodded. "I agree. Though, of course, it's better if you can sleep without being traumatized over again while doing so. Still, I think it's a good idea to wean you off that sedative, as the condition of your new heart allows." 

"Does that mean we are supposed to discuss those horrors today?" 

"We needn't jump that far into things,' Thevon replied. "Let's start somewhere a bit safer, so to speak. The crash." 

Malcolm's left hand paused on its way to bring the glass to his mouth. 

"Too taxing?" Trevon asked. 

"No," Malcolm responded. "Just haven't thought that far back in a long while. Except where Moody was involved." 

"Moody?" Trevon recognized the word as emotion. 

"He was a MACO." He finally took a drink. Trevon waited a moment. "He saved our lives. We hit something on the way to the planet." 

"Wait," Trevon stopped him. "Why were you going there?" 

The hand paused again, this time on the way back to the tray. "A message. We picked up a strange distress call from the surface." The pulse monitor began to increase. 

"This message upsets you," Trevon observed. "Why?" 

"Because it was me," Reed whispered. He still hadn't set the glass back down. 

"Did you know that at the time?" 

"No," his voice was stronger. "We didn't know. It was distorted. In Denobulan. And Morse code." 

Trevon walked over to him and took the glass to set it down. "What are you feeling right now?" 

Malcolm wasn't looking at him. His hand hadn't moved. He didn't reply either. 

"Are you feeling guilt?" 

"I," Malcolm began. He seemed out of breath. "They told me it wasn't my fault." 

"Whatever you feel is alright. You're allowed to feel it. If it is guilt, it doesn't mean it was your fault, but you feel it was. Feelings don't always tell the truth." 

"It was me, my voice," Malcolm whispered. The beeping increased. 

"You didn't know that at the time. Did they tell you after you were rescued?" Trevon went back to the loveseat. 

Malcolm nodded, barely. "It feels like my fault. But T'Pol said it was a paradox." 

Trevon started to put that together. "Let me guess. You were sent to investigate the source of this message, that, in reality, you sent much later into this story." 

Reed nodded again. "So why do I still feel guilty?" 

Trevon shrugged. "Perhaps it's only residual. Keep telling yourself the truth, that no one blames you. You'll eventually believe it, as you recover physically, and emotionally. Could it be that when _Enterprise_ discovered it was your voice, that they learned what had really happened to the shuttlepod and were able then to start planning your rescue? If that's the case, your message very likely saved your lives." 

"I hadn't thought of it like that," Reed replied. "So it's just that simple: I tell just tell myself it's not my fault." 

"Simple? No," Trevon stated. "There's a split between the cognitive mind, and the more primitive mind in traumatic situations. I had a patient once have that epiphany after a river-rafting accident. Her raft was overthrown and she had a very traumatic time, being dashed on the rocks. She escaped without injury, but one can't simply stop halfway down a river. She had to keep going. She was put in another raft. She said that she grabbed the handholds on that raft with white knuckles every time it had even the slightest jiggle. At times, she could see that the water was calm, and only knee-deep. But her hands would not let go. She said, her mind was telling her it was safe, but her body was saying, 'I'm going to die! I'm going to die!' That more primitive part of the brain hijacked her body and the prefrontal cortex couldn't compete. 

"At least, not right away. For her, it took facing her fears the next year. She didn't want to lose a hobby she enjoyed over it. She went river-rafting again. She said the fear came back at first. She gripped the handles at every bump. But as the day went on with no disasters, she began to feel comfortable in the raft again. By the end of the trip, she was fine." 

* * *

"I don't think I want to try being vivisected again," Reed quipped. 

Trevon held up a hand. "That was a lesser trauma, but the concept is the same. Your cognitive mind can tell you that you're safe, that you're healing, that there is nothing here to fear. But your body, your primitive mind, is not going to just believe it. Not yet." He leaned forward. "So you, Ensign Sato, and Moody were sent to investigate. What happened to make you crash?" 

"There was a layer of magnetic interference," Reed told him, remembering. "We had just cleared that when we got another jolt, lost power. We were already caught in the planet's gravity well. All we could do was try to keep the nose up." A chronoton pulse. 

"Obviously, you and Ensign Sato survived. Moody did not. Were you injured?" 

Malcolm shrugged. "Concussion, broken arm. Hoshi had broken ribs. We got a few supplies then I blew up the shuttlepod." 

Trevon nodded toward the pulse monitor. "You don't appear traumatized by the crash." 

Malcolm adjusted a bit to see Trevon better. Trevon noticed and moved to the other end of the loveseat so it was a little easier. Malcolm relaxed again. "Why would I be? We weren't shot down. The shuttlepod wasn't trying to kill us. We train for emergency situations like that." 

"Of course," Trevon replied. "There are no bad actors in that scenario. No one caused the crash. What did you do then? Were you discovered?" 

"Not right away," Malcolm answered. "We'd spotted some trees coming in. We tried walking toward them. Got close." 

"What stopped you? Did they catch you?" 

"Hoshi's ribs. Punctured her lungs." Malcolm sighed. "I couldn't go on without her. I buried our communicator and then we sat down and waited for them to reach us." 

"Were you frightened at all? Were they aggressive?" 

Malcolm focused on that memory. That was when he first saw Sauron. "Not particularly. They showed in force but they had one of the Wingeds with them. He was very curious. They packed us up and took us to their facility. We just had to hope they'd treat us well." 

Trevon looked confused. "Did they? The notes I was given don't seem to cover this earlier time. I supposed whoever sent them didn't find this time to be traumatic. Were they?" 

"Not particularly." That time was so different. "Boring mostly. They treated our wounds, separated us. Poked at us a little. Blood samples and the like. Seemed fascinated by our differences." 

"Hoshi was with you?" 

"Separate rooms." He smiled remember how they got in touch. "We tapped on the walls. Songs first, then Morse code." 

* * *

And there was that descant. So that had started before the base notes. The bond began before the mistreatment and was only enhanced by the eventual telepathy. "What is Morse code?" Trevon had never heard of it. 

"Taps or pulses, long and short. Different combinations stand for letters in our alphabet. Used for centuries." 

"During that time apart, did you anticipate that things would get worse?" 

Malcolm shook his head. "They gave us no reason to. We still hoped _Enterprise_ would come for us. We tried to stay positive." 

The pulse monitor held steady. But Trevon knew that it would change as soon as they left that first month behind. So he decided to focus on the descant. "Can you tell me about Hoshi?" 

"Why?" 

And there was the wall Trevon had expected from Reed's psychological evaluation. But this wasn't due to trauma, Trevon was sure. This was protectiveness. "Because I have a suspicion that your relationship with her was elemental in saving your sanity. I thought that that began after you became telepathic. But I'm sensing this may have started during this period of separation." 

Malcolm regarded him with some suspicion. "She's our communications officer. She's a linguist, a genius. She can hear things the rest of can't even imagine. She's intelligent, competent, and kind. In her free time, she likes to cook." 

Trevon sighed but surrendered. "I do think she's important to your story, but we needed get there today." He stood. "Perhaps now that we've refreshed your memory of this less taxing time, you can have a more restful night." He headed for the door. "Oh, but do tell me, please, what gave you the idea to use this literary reference: Frodo and Samwise Gamgee and the like?" 

Malcolm smiled lightly. "The desert. Reminded us of Mordor. A particularly inhospitable location in the _Lord of the Rings_. We joked about who was Frodo and who was Sam. Then because we didn't think it wise to be truthful to the natives, we let it stick." 

"Yes," Trevon said, smiling broadly. " _The Lord of the Rings_. I've begun to read it out of curiosity. It's quite a long story." 

"They made films," Reed informed him. "Less time than it takes to read, but not one hundred percent accurate to the books." 

"I'll have to look them up. See you tomorrow, Malcolm." Trevon opened the door and left the room. Tomorrow would be more difficult. He had a feeling his notes started just after that time of boredom and tapping on the walls. 

* * *

Trip's visit was a bit later than the last few days. Malcolm had been able to watch all four hours of the Two Towers. He shut off the screen when Trip showed up. 

"Oh, hey, you've already eaten," Trip said as he pointed to the tray of empty dishes. "They kept me a bit longer today." He sighed and sat down in the chair. "Looks like I can only stay a week more, maybe ten days." 

"So soon?" The bloody pulse monitor kept giving away his feelings. Can't put a brave face on anything when his heart kept betraying him. 

"I'm sorry, Malcolm." Trip leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees. "You did such a good job stabilizing the particle density that they don't have a whole lot of need for me." 

"Don't think I'm ready to be alone yet," Malcolm admitted. 

"I know. You give any thought to where you might go when they let you out of here?" 

Malcolm kept his breath even. It helped some. "Won't they contact my family?" 

Trip scooted closer. "Is that what you want?" 

_Definitely not,_ he thought. But this was Trip. Did he really have to hide from Trip. "Wouldn't be my first choice. Maybe with Madeline." 

"You said you were never really close with your family. Can you tell me why?" 

He'd told Hoshi but he just wasn't ready to tell anyone else. "My father was an Admiral. Very strict." 

Trip sighed and leaned back. "Maybe strict isn't what you need right now. I can look into other options if you like? I'll see if I can reach Madeline." He scooted closer again. "So what have you been doing? You talk to that therapist again?" 

Malcolm nodded. "Wasn't so bad. But he didn't ask about the hard stuff, not yet." 

"Like what?" Trip asked, shaking his head. "What about the last year wasn't hard?" 

"The crash," Malcolm told her. "The walk through the desert. The month or so after that." 

"Oh, really?" Trip leaned back again and crossed his legs. "Look, I only saw the political stuff. Phlox got the medical stuff, and he only gave us the highlights." He rolled his eyes. "Or the lowlights, considering." 

Malcolm sighed. He didn't want to rehash the whole thing. It was kind of boring. But it was easy. "I destroyed the shuttlepod and everything in it to keep it from contaminating their culture. Hoshi and I tried to walk to a line of trees I'd seen coming in. As we walked, she remarked that it felt like Mordor." 

"Mordor?" Trip grinned. "So that's was the start of all the _Lord of the Rings_ references." 

Malcolm smiled, too. "Worked well for code names. And other things. Can you believe she thought I might not have read the books?" 

"Well, it's not exactly Sun Su's _Art of War_ ," Trip commented. 

"It was required reading in school," Malcolm informed him. "Besides, I never said I didn't enjoy fiction now and then." 

Trip's eyebrows went up. "You 'never said' a bunch of stuff." He started counting on his fingers. "Like where you grew up, where you went to school, what you did in your free time, if you had any pets, your favorite movie..." 

"Why?" Malcolm shot back. "Am I the subject of a trivia game? Do you want to know about that first month or not?" Trip held up his hands in surrender. Having successfully steered Trip into safer waters, he continued. "At night, it got nippy so we had to keep moving. There was a large predator that approached whenever we stopped. Fortunately, it was rather shy and Hoshi has a good arm." 

"You threw rocks at it?" Trip was grinning again. 

"My arm was broken," Malcolm replied, nodding. "Her ribs were. Eventually, that became a problem. She fell, the ribs punctured her lung. We had to stop." 

Trip stopped grinning and looked concerned. "None of those predators around, I hope?" 

Malcolm shook his head. "They only came around at night. This was broad daylight. We'd seen them coming from a distance. A rather large contingent of Raptors, the bigger ones, and one scientist." 

"That had to be scary." 

Malcolm shrugged. "We hoped for the best. And it seemed okay at first. The scientist was fascinated and he recognized we were injured. They put us in a box and took us back to their facility." 

"Kennisatai Research Silo, in case you were wondering." 

That had been his 'home' for a year. "I never got to see much of it," Malcolm said. "So they sedated us and repaired our wounds." 

"They got it right?" Trip asked. "What the hell changed?" 

"Damned if I know," Malcolm admitted. "But yes, that time they got it right. I woke up in a room by myself. They came in now and then to look me over. Eventually, Hoshi and I worked out we were in adjoining rooms. We tapped on the wall to communicate." 

Trip was grinning a lot today. "Romance start that early?" 

"Not quite." Malcolm shook his head. "We kept to short messages. Didn't want to give them any toehold in communicating with us." 

"That had to have been hard on Hoshi." 

Malcolm nodded. "She got quite angry. But they only ever tried to speak to me." 

Trip laughed. "I'm sure they never got anywhere with that. Why didn't they try talkin' to her? Was it true the females were different there?" 

"Very," Malcolm replied. "She told me about them, later on. She befriended a juvenile. Called her Pippen and tried to test her intelligence. She was like a small child." 

"So they just figured," Trip said, shaking his head, "that all females everywhere must be the same?" 

Malcolm nodded. "Apparently. The Buftanisians never even tried." 

"Bet Hoshi was happy to hear—" He touched his forehead. "—from you." 

"We both were." Malcolm yawned. 

"Ah, that reminds me." Trip began to fish into one of the pockets. "I brought you something." He pulled out a small device about the size of a scanner. "White noise generator. 'Stead of my voice droning on, you choose a sound that works for you. Might have to play around with it a bit to find a sound that works for you." 

Malcolm turned the device and chose the sound of a locomotive to try it out. It did drown out the damn pulse monitor's beeping and other sounds, like the people moving outside the door. He switched it off. "Just might work." 

"Well, on that thought," Trip said, rising. "Mom's making pan fried catfish for dinner. I _cannot_ pass that up, but I'll be back first thing in the morning. I promise." 

"Go," Malcolm told him. "I'll be fine." Stiff upper lip and all. Still, he hoped to get more sleep tonight thanks to the sedative being changed. And maybe the white noise device would work. 

"Let me know how that works tomorrow," Trip said as he left. "Sleep well." And Malcolm was alone again. He turned on the white noise and tried to sleep. 

* * *

It was sometime in the night that Malcolm tripped the sedative. Dr. Varnis entered with two nurses. She ran a scanner over the patient's head to determine his level of consciousness. When she ascertained the patient was fully sedated she gave the signal to the nurses. They pulled back the blanket and sheet. Varnis aided one in disconnecting some of the monitoring contacts while the other removed the catheter. She left the pulse monitor and the IV. Dr. MacCormack wasn't ready to have done with those. 

All accomplished, the nurses tucked the sheet and blanket back around the patient. Varnis took one more scan of the patient's heart. She noted on his chart that his heart was working well under the stress. She recommended a further reduction in the sensitivity of the sensor that tripped the sedative. Then she and the nurses left the room. 

* * *

Trip found Malcolm either asleep or unconscious. He really hoped it was the former. He could hear the white noise device was still on. Just in case, he made himself comfortable on the loveseat. He set the container beside him. Dr. MacCormack had told him a small piece of pecan pie wouldn't be a problem. So he pulled up the schematics of the proposed antigravity skids. He wasn't sure EM force fields would allow the skids to move smoothly over the edges of hatches. Maglifts would be better, but that would only work on magnetized decking. And that much magnetic charge would throw off several systems on a starship. 

Suddenly, Malcolm jerked and woke up. "Bad dreams?" Trip asked. 

Malcolm raised the head of the bed so he was sitting up. "Trip." He sounded out of breath. 

"Guess locomotive wasn't the right white noise," Trip commented. He stood up and grabbed the container. He put in on the tray and slid it over. "Mom sent you some pecan pie, and the doc said you could eat it." 

Malcolm's one exposed eyebrow lifted. "Did she now?" He pulled the tray closer and opened the container. "Smells good." 

Trip produced a fork from his breast pocket. "No one makes pecan pie like my mom." 

Malcolm took the fork and cut a bite loose. Trip waited while he ate it. "Well?" he asked. 

"It _is_ good," Malcolm said, cutting off another piece. 

"The truth?" 

Malcolm stopped before taking the next bite. "Why would you think I'm lying?" 

"You ate Chilean Sea bass and said that was good. But you hate fish." Trip sat back in the chair. 

"I like it, Trip." Malcolm finally took that next bite. "It's not pineapple but it's good. You do realize I spent a year eating alien produce and mystery meat." 

Trip chuckled. "Well, you're welcome." 

Malcolm shifted his weight and got a confused look. 

"What's wrong?" Trip started to get up but Malcolm waved him off. 

"It seems some things were removed last night. Just noticed I feel a lot more comfortable." 

Trip sat back. "Well, that's okay then. Must mean you're doing well." 

"Ah, Commander Tucker." Trip turned to see Dr. MacCormack in the doorway. "You're earlier than I thought." 

"You said he could have the pie," Trip said in his defense. 

"I assumed you were calling from home." She moved further into the room. "The pie is fine. Though we shouldn't make a habit of dessert for breakfast." She turned to Malcolm. "It's a big day, Lieutenant. You're going to need to get out of that bed and put those ankles to work." 

Trip backed up to give her access to Malcolm. She detached the pulse monitor and the IV line. "The restroom is right through that door." She pointed just past one end of the loveseat. "That's your goal today. Get there. Do what you need to do and get back." 

Malcolm eyed the loveseat. "Can I sit over there?" 

"I suppose, but only when someone is in here with you. If anything should go wrong...." 

Trip grinned. Things were definitely looking up. 

"I'll get you a walker in here," the doctor went on. "It's not glamorous but those legs haven't been walking in quite a while. They're bound to be a bit shaky. I'm sure Mr. Tucker can offer support while he's here." 

"Yes, ma'am," Trip replied. 

"Finish your pie, Lieutenant," MacCormack said as she walked away. "I'll send some milk to wash it down." 

Malcolm wasted no time in finishing the pie. He pushed the tray away and pulled back the covers, to swing his legs over the side. "They must have dressed me when I was unconscious." 

"Still happened?" Trip asked. 

Malcolm shrugged. "I feel more rested than other mornings, but in this case, I'm rather glad I was unconscious when certain things were removed." 

Trip could guess. He hadn't needed the restroom before. "I would be, too." He stood and held out an arm to help steady Malcolm as he slipped off the bed. His ankles were still bandaged tightly. Malcolm took his arm until he felt steady. 

"You ready for this?" Trip asked him. 

"Definitely. Whether or not my ankles are is still to be determined." 

"I'll be right beside you," Trip offered. "Just in case." 

* * *

The distance probably wasn't four meters, but it seemed like a gulf. Malcolm remembered his thigh bone snapping, the cables pulling his ankles. 

"You got this, Malcolm," Trip told him. "One step at a time." 

Malcolm looked at the loveseat. He hadn't been out of a bed—except to be executed or to have a date with Hoshi—for nearly a year. It was dignity. To get to that restroom, to sit on that loveseat. Dignity he'd been denied. 

He test his left leg. The bone must have healed well—or the pain meds were really good—because it only ached a little. He took a step. Then another. His ankles protested but not loudly. It was more like his feet were waking up, remembering they had a job to do. 

It took thirteen steps to reach the restroom. Trip closed the door behind him. The restroom itself looked so familiar. It was different than the one in Sickbay. This one was definitely earthier, a little less modern. It was pretty similar to the Academy. Malcolm found it comforting. He relieved himself and washed his hands as well as he could with the splints. There was also sanitizing gel, so he used that just to be sure his hands and the splints were clean. Then he pressed the door release. 

Trip was waiting for him. "Ya good?" 

Malcolm nodded. At least here in the hospital there were no hatches. The floors were flat. He exited the restroom then turned to sit on the loveseat. He found it strange to be so emotional about sitting on a cushioned, forward-facing seat. 

Trip sat opposite him in the chair. "You sure you're okay?" 

Malcolm looked over at him. "Except for that wheelchair, I haven't sat like this, on anything like this, since the shuttlepod." 

An orderly entered just then with a glass of milk. Trip swung the tray over to the loveseat. The orderly left the milk and Malcolm picked up the glass. "Do you think we could pretend..." He looked to Trip. "...just for a little while, that we're just sitting down for a chat after a hard mission. Just relaxing." 

Trip smiled. "Yeah, we can do that." 

* * *

Trevon entered 36A surprised to find Reed's bed empty. But then he found him propped on some pillows against the arm of the sofa. The blanket from the bed was spread across his lower body. There were voices and music on the screen on the wall to the right of the door. He turned and saw very large elephants with scaffolding atop them full of painted warriors. "I thought elephants were smaller than that." 

"Elephants are," Malcolm replied. His voice sounded a bit strained. "Those are oliphants. And they're not on Earth. They're in Middle-Earth." 

"Ah!" Trevon realized what this was. "The Lord of the Rings films. May I pause it?" 

The lieutenant nodded. Trevon went to the bed and pulled the controller from the pocket on the side. He looked at the screen again. There was an impressive and rather nasty-looking army arrayed in front of a tiered, conical, and very white city. 

Reed attempted to change position to sit properly on the sofa. A quick intake of breath told Trevon he was in pain. "How long have you been away from bed?" he asked. 

"Since breakfast." 

Trevon helped him adjust his legs then went to the panel on the door to call for pain medicine. It was apparent Dr. MacCormack had released him from the IV drip and the pulse monitor. It was likely meant to be a temporary reprieve. "Are you certain you don't want to return to the bed?" 

"I'm certain." There was a hard set to his face. 

Trevon held up a hand. He wouldn't force the issue. He sat down in the chair to face him and waited for the nurse. 

A young man entered with a hypospray and approached. "For pain," he told Malcolm, then injected the medicine. 

" _Ke shanita_ ," Malcolm said. His eye was unfocussed. 

"I'm sorry?" the nurse asked. 

Trevon stood and touched the nurse's arm. "I'll take it from here. Please close the door on your way out." 

The nurse left. The door closed. Trevon turned to his patient. "Malcolm, what does _ke shanita_ mean?" 

"I remember that one," Malcolm said. "Hoshi told me." 

Trevon tried again. "What does it mean?" 

"For pain," he replied. "They gave us medicine for pain." 

Trevon knew he'd have to tread lightly here. Malcolm was on the edge of a flashback. If Trevon pushed too hard, he'd get lost in it. While it might be enlightening and illustrative of his traumatic reactions, it wouldn't necessarily help Malcolm heal. "Was that from your wounds after the crash?" 

He shook his head and blinked. "No, it was later." 

Trevon only hoped he'd continue talking. "Hoshi was with you then?" 

He nodded. 

"Then it was after the first 'procedure.'" Trevon leaned forward slightly. "Can you tell me about it?" 

"What's there to tell?" he said, with that hard set to his face again. "I was paralyzed but awake as they cut me open." 

Trevon blew out a breath. "That's not quite how this works." 

Malcolm looked away. "I don't know how it works." 

"You need to tell me how you felt and how you feel now. You need to let go of all that control and give yourself permission to not be okay right now." 

Malcolm didn't speak but he seemed to consider it. Trevon wondered what had instilled that need for control. It often stemmed from instability or trauma in childhood or adolescence. Was it tied to that secret hurt? 

* * *

Permission to not be okay. That was a foreign concept. Reed men didn't let circumstances get the better of them. His father had been very insistent about that in the years after his drowning. And then there was Harris. So who was Trevon to say he could give himself that permission? 

"Were you not allowed to voice your feelings as a child?" 

"Is that another educated guess?" 

Trevon nodded. "But I sense you have more reticence to telling me about that issue. So the events on Sharu should be easier. Malcolm, it is no secret that you have nightmares, serious ones that increase your pulse to a dangerous rate. You have flashbacks. You aren't always going to be able to control those. You had a brief one when the nurse gave you your pain meds." He smiled lightly. "You have post-traumatic stress. You have to let your control go at times. It'll be taken from you whether you like it or not." 

Hoshi's word came back to him. 'Get better, Malcolm. Talk to someone. You can't heal this alone. Not this time." He sighed and frowned. 

Trevon sat back. "Let's start over. When were you aware that circumstances had changed from being housed in adjoining rooms?" 

Malcolm took a bracing breath. "They stopped feeding us." 

"Did that frighten you?" 

Malcolm frowned again. "Well, somewhat. They hadn't mistreated us to that point. But they acted strange." 

"What did you think they might be up to?" 

"I thought it could be an experiment to see how long it took to starve us, or to get us ready to transport elsewhere. Or to kill us." He took a moment to exhale. "Or surgery." 

"So that possibility did occur to you. Did you resist, when they came for you." 

Malcolm scoffed. "Fat lot of good that did. I only showed you a small one. Bayzhoo was about a foot taller than me. The larger ones were more than a meter taller. And there was one of each. They acted like it was just another exam then they grabbed me." 

"Was it immediate or were you legitimately unconscious for a time?" 

Malcolm's hands clenched and unclenched, and he couldn't make them stop. Trevon reached forward and covered one of them with one of his hands. "You can't control it. Not yet. Let yourself feel what you feel." 

"Before and after," Malcolm told him. He couldn't look at him. He was breathing hard. "It was like I woke up but couldn't open my eyes. I couldn't move. I couldn't scream. I couldn't gasp in pain." 

Trevon released his grip. "I imagine that pain was incredibly intense." 

Malcolm's chest hurt. His arm. His leg. He was tensing them both. 

"Breathe," Trevon told him. "Deep breath in." Malcolm was breathing too fast. He felt it. He took a deep breath. "Now let it out slowly. You're safe. You're on Earth." 

His breath was shaky when he blew it out. 

"What did you feel besides pain? Did you know where they were cutting?" 

"I felt them crack my ribs, reach in. My right leg, my right arm." He stretched out his hand. His fingers shook. "I thought I'd die." He took another breath. "I wanted to die." 

"I can imagine," Trevon said. "Did you hear them?" 

Malcolm nodded. "It was gibberish, but calm, dispassionate. And I knew they didn't know. I tried." 

"You were paralyzed. Anesthesia requires both paralysis and unconsciousness. The balance was off." Trevon spoke softly, more like Bayzhoo. Later. "Did you know how long it was?" 

Malcolm shook his head. "Felt like forever." The memory slammed into him. His hand when to his eye, the bandage there. He needed to remove it. 

"Malcolm, it may not be safe yet." Trevon's hand was on his arm. "Wait here. I'll ask." The hand was gone. 

His eye opened. He couldn't move it, couldn't blink. The light hurt. Those three fingers reached for him, the cold metal pushed under his lower eyelid. He was breathing too fast. He couldn't slow down. A blade pierced his eye. He had to get the bandage off. 

"Let me help you." 

The bandage unwound from his head slowly. They were still cutting. He could see his body, splayed open. Then he couldn't. It was all a blur. There was pressure as they popped it back in. The last bandage pulled away. 

The light hurt. He brought his hand up to block the light. "Don't touch it. It's still healing." 

Malcolm threw off the blanket, tried to rise. "I need to see it." 

Trevon helped him up, held him up as he walked to the end of the loveseat and into the restroom. There was a mirror over the sink. He forced his eye to stop squinting. It was open. It was there. It was red where it should have been white. But he could see the reflection clearly. He covered his other eye. Still clear. His breathing slowed. 

He turned to leave. "I think you need the bed," Trevon told him. "That took a lot from you." 

He couldn't hold himself up anymore. He felt so tired. Trevon half-carried him to the bed, helped him into it. He lowered the head of it halfway down, then retrieved the blanket. He stayed by the bed. "It was six hours, Malcolm. You survived it. Over and over, you survived it. You may need to keep reminding yourself of that. You're a survivor." 

Six hours. He looked up at the frozen screen. The Return of the King was four hours twenty-three minutes. Six was longer. "I would have died if they had let me," he breathed. 

"I know. I would, too, if it had been me. I doubt _anyone_ could feel differently in that situation. Only someone who can't feel pain. Even they would find it disturbing. But you got through it then and you'll get through it now. When those memories drop on you, try to tell yourself that it's over. Or tell yourself where you are. Find one concrete moment, after your rescue, that can be your anchor on this side of it." 

Trevon put the controller in his hand. "Finish your film and then try and get some rest. Tomorrow should be easier." As he went to the door, he dimmed the lights. 

Malcolm unpaused the video and tried to lose himself in the battle on the Pellenor. Eventually nurses arrived. They reconnected the IV and the monitor. Malcolm never moved his gaze from the screen. He didn't want to see them and what they were doing. The pulse monitor beeped quickly, but the Corsairs had arrived and Legolas was taking down an oliphant all by himself. The beeping slowed in time, and it was steady when the credits rolled. His eyes were heavy and he fell asleep. 


	7. Chapter Seven

**Star Trek: Enterprise  
Finding Home**  
by Philippe de la Matraque  
Sequel to _Alien Us_

**Chapter Seven**

Trip entered Malcolm's room and found him back in his bed asleep. There was a covered plate on the tray at the side of the bed. The white noise device was off. Trip quickly checked the plate. Untouched. Malcolm's eyes--both of them--moved side to side under his eyelids. So he was asleep and not unconscious. Dreaming. 

Trip hoped it was a good one this time. He carefully picked up the white noise generator and set it to a campfire and wind. Malcolm had been an Eagle Scout. Maybe he'd find it nostalgic and soothing. 

Malcolm might wake in an hour or three. He'd probably be hungry and need the restroom. Mom and Dad weren't expecting Trip until after 2200. So he decided to head to the canteen to grab a quick dinner before returning. 

A half hour later, he was back and Malcolm was still asleep, so Trip got comfortable on the loveseat and pulled up some schematics he wanted to go over before his time with R&D the next day. Reed woke up a couple hours into it. He didn't jerk awake so Trip thought maybe he'd found a good combination of white noise. 

"Morning or evening?" Malcolm asked, as he raised the head of the bed. He lifted the lid off the plate to see what he'd been served. 

"Evening," Trip replied. "You sat over here after breakfast, remember?" 

"Not easy to keep it all straight here," Malcolm said. 

Trip waved it off. "I get it. Especially when you gotta sleep irregularly and half that time you're unconscious. You seemed to wake up a little easier this time." 

"Can't remember much," Malcolm told him. "But I think it wasn't as bad as usual." He must have decided the food was still good so he tucked in. 

"Sorry for running out early on you yesterday," Trip offered. 

Malcolm smiled. "Was the catfish good?" 

"The best. Nobody makes it like my mom." Trip grinned. "You might even like it." 

"I don't like fish, remember." 

"At least you admit it," Trip told him. "Nothing wrong with admitting your likes and dislikes." 

Malcolm's expression changed. The smile was gone and Trip wondered if that wasn't the way he was brought up. Maybe he wasn't allowed or got in trouble when he gave an opinion. Trip really wanted to just out and out ask Malcolm, but he was sure Malcolm wouldn't give him a straight answer. He could ask Dr. MacCormack if his parents had called at all, but the doctor would probably tell him that it was none of his business. 

"You know, I wish I could stay longer. I'd love to have you over to meet my parents, my brother. He and his husband have a boy they adopted from Ireland. Kid still has a little bit of a lilt to voice. They live out of state but come over for visits on the weekends sometimes." 

"Maybe another time," Malcolm said. He washed down his meal then hit a button on his bed's controller. He started to get up, so Trip jumped up to help steady him. Malcolm was only a little more stable than this morning. By the time he reached the restroom, he seems to be worn out. Trip could understand. Malcolm had hardly walked fifteen steps before the heart attack, and hardly had reason to walk or exert himself in the eleven months before that. And of course, he ended those fifteen months in a very much worse condition. 

Trip helped him get around the arm of the loveseat. "You get back to the bed by yourself?" 

Malcolm shook his head. "Trevon helped. I, um, didn't have the energy." 

Trip let his eyebrows climb. "You must have discussed something a bit more difficult than yesterday. 

Malcolm frowned. "The first, uh, time they--" 

Trip decided not to make Malcolm go through it twice in one day. "I think I know." The first time they cut him open unconscious. "Still, Malcolm Reed actually opened up to a therapist." 

"If you must know," Malcolm replied, rolling his eyes, "he caught me in a flashback." He indicated his right eye. "Had a bigger one when we got to this. I got impatient with the bandages." 

Trip nodded. "It looks a little sore." 

"I've seen it," Malcolm said. "And I can see with it. It'll heal. But yes, I talked to him. Hoshi told me I needed to and I trust her." 

"How do you feel after?" Trip asked. Of course, Malcolm had only talked to the guy twice. 

"Worn out." Malcolm tried to cross one leg over the other but winced and reconsidered. "Still waiting for all the weight to fall off my shoulders." 

Trip smiled and shook his head. "It takes time. It's not magic." 

"Trevon said it was," Malcolm argued. "At least things were mostly easier for a bit after that." 

"Easier how?" Trip didn't want to push too hard. 

"Well, after we healed some, Hoshi and I got to stay together," Malcolm began. "Our hair had grown out. We let it dangle in front of our faces and whispered very quietly. It was the most open communication we had until--" He hesitated then touched his temple. 

"She was already in Buftanis by then?" 

Malcolm nodded. "They tried to get me to communicate by showing us children's programs." 

Trip grinned again. "With little toddler Raptors and such?" 

Malcolm smiled a bit, too. "Some. And some were more like lizards. Like monitors. I never saw any of them in person." 

The Council! Trip knew about this. "They _were_ Monitors. Third species. All three had representatives on the Council. The country you were in had a very stratified culture. The smaller ones were under the bigger ones. Each species had its own spheres. Like a caste system. Wingeds were science; Raptors were military; and Monitors were administration, media, and the like." 

"So you read the notes where they talked about us," Malcolm commented. "Why'd they move Hoshi?" 

"Buftanisian spy," Trip told him. "This envoy showed up and said they knew Zheiren had some aliens. Gave an ultimatum. They got Dr. Enesh and Hoshi. But Zheiren wouldn't let them have their spy back. In return, the Buftanisians agreed to keep quiet and gave the location of your communicator. Oh, and they'd share scientific information back and forth." 

Malcolm took a deep breath. "That explains a lot. We weren't just lab rats, we were political pawns. Maybe someday I'll want to read those reports." 

"Therapy," Trip reminded him. "Right now, it would be too triggering. But I think small doses of the larger picture may help you get a new perspective. Those Wingeds, for example, tried hard not to get you tortured. Worked most of the year. The Raptors were sure we were gonna invade. They wanted info now, while the scientists had more patience." 

Malcolm seemed to consider that a moment. "I never thought of the scientists as evil. Well, except for that Enesh. We didn't think they knew we were awake. Still wouldn't have been any fun but they weren't trying to be cruel. Except maybe at the end. The Raptors, though, the big ones...." He shook his head again. "I _was_ afraid of the scientists, of going through that again. But it was a different fear. PTSD, I guess. T-Rex though. He wrapped one hand around my entire neck." He looked away. Trip noticed he was breathing harder. "I was terrified of him. And Sauron." 

That was quite an admission coming from Malcolm Reed. "You had good reason to be. Especially when they were hopped up on testosterone and coming into power. I'm very sorry we couldn't get you sooner." 

Malcolm nodded them met his gaze. "But I survived." 

"Yeah, you did." Trip grinned. "You are not an easy guy to kill." 

Malcolm chuckled. "You say that like you're up for the challenge." 

Trip held up a finger. "No, never. I'm just glad you're on our team." 

* * *

Malcolm eventually had had to return to the bed, and the dreadful IV and monitor hook-ups. But at least Dr. MacCormack had decreased the sensitivity again, so he might just get more sleep this time. But as yet, he didn't feel sleepy, and he'd already watched the entire Lord of the Rings extended cut. He wasn't sure what to watch now. He checked out the local news and flipped channels for an hour or so. 

He really wanted to talk to Hoshi. He couldn't think to her. He couldn't call her. But he could write a letter. And Trip could deliver it. He used the call button to get a nurse then asked for something to write on. 

_Dear Hoshi,_

_I miss you so much. It hurts not having you to talk to. I have Trip twice a day and he's been great. But he's not you. He's not nearly as pretty. I know we spent most of that year apart, but those few days back on _Enterprise_ when I could see your face and feel the touch of your hand, that was worth surviving for. _

_But now, I can't reach you. And the hours I lay awake without Tirp or my new therapist are so quiet. He's a Betazed, my therapist. Dr. Koy Trevon. I can't say as I've ever heard his own language. He speaks pretty good English though he's only been on the planet for a little over a week. Betazoids, Hoshi, are all telepaths. Though it seems he can't do some of the things we did together._

_It hasn't been easy but you told me I needed to talk to someone. So I've talked to him. Just a few times so far. He comes every day. Trip in the morning, then Trevon after lunch. Trip comes again after he's done with R &D for the day. Still, that leaves a rather long afternoon and a very long night. The nights are the hardest. We patrolled each other's dreams, remember? _

_I hope your nightmares are not too troubling. And that the captain isn't pushing you too hard. You may have emerged from the planet in better condition than me, but you need time to rest and recuperate as much as I do._

_I got my new heart the day after Trip and I arrived. Got a few other things, too. Nerves in my wrists and ankles, some part of my eye. They said they strengthened my sternum, too. They're all doing well. I, on the other hand, am rather, well, weak. I started it, hoping to slow them down. They finished it in spectacular fashion. I get winded just walking to the other side of the room. But at least I can walk. My wrists are still splinted because those spikes were quite large, but my fingers all move. They're a bit stiff. Well, everything is. So even after they release me from the hospital, I'll have a lot to do to get back in shape. But if that's what it takes to get back to you, I'll do it._

_I miss you so much. That mission came at the wrong time. You should be here with your parents. And of course, you could still visit. Or not. I know this hospital might not be somewhere you want to visit. Maybe I could eventually visit you in Japan. If you're amenable to me meeting your parents, of course._

_Does the quiet bother you as well? Do you miss my voice in your mind? I miss yours in mine. I miss you sharing your quarters, the mess, everywhere but Sickbay._

_Well, it's late. If I want to be awake when Trip gets here, I should really try and sleep. I hope I'll dream of you._

_Love,_

_Malcolm_

* * *

Trip woke up early. If he was going to find Madeline, he'd have to consider the time differences. He was surprised and not surprised to find his mother already up. "Mom, did you even try to sleep last night?" 

"I did, Trip," she replied. "Why are you up so early?" 

"I wanna try and talk to Malcolm's sister. She's British, so--" 

"So you'll need some coffee," Mom decided. 

Trip sighed and sat down at their comm console. He started in England. He knew that Malcolm's parents were in Malaysia but Malcolm still seemed to consider England his home. Maybe his sister did, too. There were actually a few Madeline Reeds, so he had to find something to narrow it down. He knew what she looked like, so he put her platinum blonde hair and her height in to the search. That narrowed the results, but not far enough. So he tried age, and set the parameters to five years on either side of Malcolm's age. That did it. He had an address. But he got no answer when he tried to call. He thought maybe he could try and find her friend, Darlene, but he didn't even know her last name. 

He thought of calling Malcolm's parents but dreaded that idea. Hoshi had found an uncle and a couple of aunts. But again, he didn't have enough information. The uncle's name was Archie, but was he from Malcolm's father's side, and thus a Reed? Or was his from his mother's? Trip didn't know her maiden name. He didn't even know the aunts' first names. 

So he decided, he'd have to do a deeper search for Madeline. And he couldn't do that from his parents' comm console. Starfleet Command could do it though. Hoshi had found her so he could, too. 

Mom fixed him a breakfast burrito so he could eat as he flew to San Francisco. It was still dark when he landed. But Starfleet Command was a twenty-four hour establishment. So he found an empty terminal and pulled up Malcolm's personal file. Then he looked up his family. There were his parents and his sister. No aunts or uncles. So he stuck with his plan and looked up Madeline. 

He found articles from her graduation. She'd gotten top scores in her architectural school. Trip froze. Elizabeth had been an architect. What were the odds that Malcolm's only sister was one, too? So he tried to find where Madeline worked. 

She'd worked in two firms since graduating, and the second one had been one of the companies contracted to work on the "Reclamation Area," the area destroyed by the Xindi prototype weapon. Another article told him that all such work in the Reclamation Area had been cancelled for medical reasons. Madeline had said she was sick. 

So Trip dug further into that and found it was a new kind of brain cancer that didn't respond to any known treatments. In fact, those treatments made the tumors worse. Maybe that's why she hadn't answered. Maybe she'd gotten worse since he'd seen her at the hospital. 

Well, either way, this wasn't good news for Malcolm. Staying with Madeline wouldn't be an option if she was that sick. But now he had a dilemma. How could he tell Malcolm his sister had an incurable brain cancer? Madeline seemed to really care about Malcolm. Maybe she was the one person Malcolm had gotten close to in his family. True, he never talked about her and she never called the ship, so he couldn't be sure. 

Trip shook his head. He just couldn't understand Malcolm's family. Given, he only had little hints, like having only seven pieces to a thousand-piece puzzle. Even then, it was like he couldn't be sure they were even pieces of the same thousand-piece puzzle. And that hurt. Trip hurt for Malcolm. Whatever his family was, it wasn't normal. If he'd had a loving relationship with his family, would he ever have kept it so hidden? 

The crowd began to pick up, and Trip realized he'd spent several hours on the computer. At least Starfleet Medical wasn't far. As he walked, he made up his mind. He'd already told Malcolm that Madeline was sick. He didn't have proof that she had that Xindi cancer. Malcolm didn't need guesses or theories about the potentially terminal illness of his sister. 

He found Malcolm still asleep. Or unconscious. There was still that possibility as long as that IV was in Malcolm's arm. The white noise device was on. Trip got comfortable on the loveseat and waited. Malcolm needed all the rest he could get. And not just because he had surgery just a few days ago. But therapy was going to be rough. Trip's own therapy wasn't like that so much, but he'd just been bullied. Malcolm had been through a lot more than that. 

Malcolm began to stir. "Morning, sleepyhead," Trip called out. 

Malcolm started to rub his eyes but stopped. He reached for the controller and raised the bed. Then he hit the call button. "Morning?" 

"Yep." 

Malcolm looked at the empty tray. So breakfast hadn't arrived yet. "How long have we been here?" 

"Five days since surgery," Trip replied. "So just under a week." 

"Would've been nice to have a window," Malcolm said. "Then I could at least see the sky." 

"Well, you keep healing well and they'll move you out of here," Trip replied. "Probably to a place with plenty of windows." 

"It's just hard to keep track of the time." 

"I _am_ sorry about that," Dr. MacCormack said from the door. "I'll be sure to get a clock in here. However, if everything looks good on this scanner, I think perhaps Commander Tucker could take you out to the courtyard for a few hours. We have a small park there." 

"In that case, I hope I pass." 

Trip hung back while the doctor checked Malcolm over. It must have gone well because she turned and told Trip there was a wheelchair in the hall. 

Trip happily went to the hall and wheeled the chair in. 

MacCormack had unhooked Malcom and was walking beside him as he moved to the restroom. 

"He's getting stronger," Trip commented. 

"He is," MacCormack replied. "And he's taking the transplants well. No sign of rejection. He'll have to have regular checks for the next five years, you know." 

"Five whole years?" Trip questioned. "Just to be sure?" 

"Yes, but we've come a long way in regard to transplants," she reassured him. "Rejections only happen in point two percent of all transplants globally. The lieutenant's donor was a close genetic match. If he gets through the next three months, he'll very likely have no problems at all." 

Malcolm emerged and eyed the wheelchair. Dr. MacCormack went to the bed to retrieve the blanket. "Have a seat, Malcolm," Trip offered, smiling. 

Malcolm sat down and got his feet up. "Breakfast?" 

"A man's gotta eat," Trip told the doctor. 

"I'll have someone get you something portable," MacCormack answered as she tucked the blanket around his thighs. "Try and stay in the shade. You do _not_ need another sunburn." 

"Will do," Trip promised. 

"Thank you, Doctor," Malcolm offered as Trip backed him out of the room. 

* * *

"Well, this feels slightly familiar," Trip commented as he pushed him down the corridor. 

"Except last time I ended up nearly dying again," Malcolm retorted. 

"After a lovely date with Hoshi," Trip reminded him. "Besides, that was your old heart that nearly killed you. You got a new one now." 

Malcolm knew that, of course. But, truth be told, it felt just like his old heart. Well, how it used to feel, before the crash, before the surgeries, before the end. He hadn't been outside since then either. He'd only seen it through Hoshi's eyes. 

There was a set of double doors ahead, and he could see green beyond them. Grass, and, as they got closer, trees. Their leaves moved in a breeze. He leaned forward in the chair. 

"Been a while, huh?" Trip asked. 

"Hoshi showed me." Malcolm kept his eyes on those doors. "Trees and fields of a cottony crop, snow." 

An orderly stood by the door. He had a box and a bottle. He approached them as they neared. Malcolm took them. The box was warm and the bottle cold. Breakfast. He was hungry. But he wanted to be outside more than anything right then. 

The doors parted and the breeze hit him. He could smell the grass, hear birds chirping. Ducks! He heard ducks. There was a small pond in the center of the space. Malcolm looked up and saw a blue sky with a few wispy clouds. 

Trip parked him next to a bench in the shade. He took the box and the bottle and motioned to the bench. Malcolm pulled back the blanket and put his feet on the ground. The grass tickled his toes. It was still a little damp from the morning's dew. 

Trip sat down and put the food between them. "Better'n a window, huh?" 

"Very much better," Malcolm agreed. "It's one thing being on the ship in the stars. Being free. But in that lab, I never saw the sky with my own eyes. No window, except the ones in the doors. And they only showed a hallway. Or a face." 

"Maybe Dr. MacCormack will let you come out here more often," Trip suggested. "Ya might want to eat before it gets cold." 

Malcolm opened the box. Sausage and egg in a roll with cheese. It smelled good. "The food is definitely getting more interesting." 

"No more gelatin!" Trip was grinning. 

"What about you?" Malcolm asked. 

Trip held up his hands. "Enjoy it. Mom sent me off well provisioned. Are you cold?" 

"A little," Malcolm answered. Then he took a bit of his sandwich. The flavors. He could taste them all. The slight spiciness of the sausage, the melted creaminess of the cheese, the thick breadiness of the roll, and whatever one called the taste of eggs. 

But it was also a little dry. So he put down the sandwich and reached for the bottle. Milk again. 

Trip had retrieved the blanked, and Malcolm covered his legs with it. He picked up the sandwich again and took in the scenery while he ate. There was a mother duck on the water with nine little ducklings paddling furiously behind her. He could still see the walls of the hospital all the way around, but he felt this was a little oasis of nature, and he was glad to be in it. "I wish I could share this with Hoshi." 

"That's so cool that you could do that," Trip remarked. "What's it like? Does it sort of superimpose on what your own eyes are seeing?" 

Malcolm had to think about that. It had been awhile. "Yes, and no," he answered. "When she shared her sight with me, what I had to see was a lab wall or something similar. Then, it was like seeing it. Like a daydream that could replace what I was seeing if gave it attention. It was the same in Sickbay. I didn't want to see Sickbay." 

"What if you're someplace nice like this?" 

Malcolm shrugged. "I haven't been in someplace nice like this." 

"Okay, I'll give you that," Trip said, giving in. "but you can share memories, too, right? So take this in. You can share it next time you see her. Or the next time she's in range." 

It wasn't a bad idea, but Malcolm shook his head. "She should be in a place like this, too. Maybe the Buftanisians didn't cut her up but she didn't like what they were doing, putting things inside her." 

"I know," Trip agreed. "If they hadn't needed her for the mission, she would be. But I'm sure Phlox is letting her know what they were trying to do. They were trying to clone you." 

Malcolm stopped watching the ducks and faced Trip. "Clones of me? They were mutants, malformed." 

"Cloning isn't an exact science, and they are pre-warp." 

"They are very good at life support," Malcolm told him, turning back to the ducks. "And that pink salve really worked." He spread the fingers of his right hand. "No visible scars." 

"Maybe, but Phlox said they never got a viable embryo." 

"They didn't value females," Malcolm commented. "That's why they never even tried to communicate with her. The Buftanisians only got a female and my genetic material. So they had to try and make a male." 

Trip smiled. "And since that wasn't workin' out, they were workin' on a plan to abduct you." 

"Oh really?" Malcolm hadn't heard that. "Do tell." 

Trip was still grinning. "They were plannin' to set the two of you up in an apartment, with lots of cameras, of course. They were even tryin' to design more appropriate furniture. The long term plan was that you two would set up house, and nature would take its course." 

Malcolm shook his head and looked at the ducks again. "Don't think we'd have much liked being zoo animals either." 

"Yeah," Trip agreed. "Too many cameras for my taste, too." 

"Did you see any drawing of the furniture?" Malcolm asked. "Or did you get a look at what Zheiren used for toilets?" 

"Nope, but now I'm trying to imagine how one of the Raptors might go about that." 

Malcolm chuckled. "I never saw them do it, but it seems like they'd sit forward on it. It was very awkward for us." 

Trip laughed. "More for Hoshi, I'm guessing. You only had to try and sit half the time." 

"Either way," Malcolm told him, "I didn't watch. We tried to give each other whatever dignity we could." The mother duck was leading her babies to the shore now. "You think she has a nest here somewhere?" 

"Probably," Trip guessed. "The little ones are cute, aren't they? They have to waddle so fast to keep up with her." 

They sat together and talked of small things as Malcolm watched the squirrels and the small ripples the breeze made on the water. But eventually, the sun climbed higher in the sky and the tree's shadow that had shaded the bench moved away from it. Malcolm was left in the sun. 

Trip moved to the chair and released the brake. But Malcolm didn't want to go back to the windowless room. He knew he'd have to eventually, but he wanted to stay here in the courtyard as long as he could. So he stood up, taking the blanket with him. Instead of going to the chair, he walked to the other side of the tree. He tried to sit down slowly but his legs just weren't strong enough. Trip caught him before he fell and lowered him safely to the ground. 

He knelt beside Malcolm. "You know I've gotta leave and get to R&D," Trip told him. "You were supposed to head back." 

"She wasn't specific on when," Malcolm retorted. "Let Dr. MacCormack know I'm here. Trevon, too. Seems as good a place as any to talk to him." 

"I'll leave the chair," Trip said. "Just in case." 

* * *

Dr. MacCormack found Lt. Reed right where Commander Tucker said he left him. He was sitting cross-legged, absently plucking blades of grass. MacCormack realized she'd underestimated his potential discomfort in the hospital. Perhaps if she'd chosen a room that bordered the park, one with a window, she'd have received a little more compliance. 

"I'm not in the sun," he told her when she got close. 

MacCormack sighed and sat down beside him. She put the sandwich container and drink in front of him. "I did try with the room, you know." 

He didn't look at her but opened the box. "I can tell. Color, plants, the loveseat. Do you know how long it has been since I sat in a chair, not counting my one trip out of Sickbay? I was there a year, and I never saw the sky from when were taken to when they tried to execute me. And then it was a desert. What I wouldn't have given for a breeze." He took a bite of his sandwich. 

MacCormack felt for him. She really did. But she had his physical health to think of, too. "What happens when your legs get stiff from sitting down here?" 

"I might lay back and watch the clouds through the branches." 

She took out the portable scanner, expecting to see issues. And he wasn't without them. Pain, for one. He hadn't had pain meds since this morning. But his heart was actually beating at a steady, relaxed pace. It was the most relaxed he'd been since he woke up. "What about the restroom?" 

"I'm an adult," he responded. "I can hold it." 

She considered it. He was okay. He wasn't asking for meds. He'd have to be weaned off them eventually so maybe that wasn't a bad thing. "You can't sleep out here?" 

He sighed. "I'm not planning on camping out." He took a drink. "Have you ever been in a place that makes your skin crawl? Really crawl?" 

She frowned. "I went on a desert hike once. On the way back, I had to run from shade to shade. I couldn't stand the sun on my skin anymore." 

He nodded and swallowed the bite he had taken. "That's how I felt in Sickbay. The sounds of the machines helping me stay alive. That damn pulse monitor. That bed." He waved his hand. "This is nothing like there. For the first time, I don't feel the need to run way. The fact that I physically _can't_ get away doesn't change the feeling that I need to." 

MacCormack placed a hand on his shoulder. "You need to walk. That will start you getting stronger. You let us know when the pain is too much. We'll give you something, but less each time. You have to promise to let us know if something feels wrong. You can either be out here with Tucker in the morning or with Trevon in the afternoon. But then you go back. You walk as much as you can, from your door inward. We'll check your heart four times a day, change bandages daily as needed." 

"Can I stay out here today?" 

"Trevon takes you back," she said, agreeing. "You walk from the door." 

"Deal." 

"You'll walk farther, you know." 

"That's a given," he retorted. "I hope I'll be able to walk right out of this hospital. 

MacCormack chuckled. "Lieutenant, I don't doubt that you will. Enjoy your lunch. I'll send Trevon out." She stood and brushed off her pant legs. Trevon was right. Malcolm Reed was not a broken man. 

* * *

For a man who lived on a starship in the cosmos, Malcolm Reed looked very much at home sitting on the grass under a tree under a partly cloudy sky. "Good afternoon, Malcolm." 

Malcolm looked up at him. "Good afternoon. Are you going to sit?" 

Trevon was looking at the other benches to see if any were in shade. The ones that were were perhaps too far for Reed to walk. Given, there was the chair. But at Malcolm's question, Trevon lowered himself to the ground and sat. "You seem quite comfortable here." 

"This place is everything I didn't have in Zheiren. I was in the desert before and then at the end," Reed kept his eyes on the pond, the trees, the clouds. 

Trevon nodded. "No reminders, here. I'm sensing a windowless room was an oversight. You were kept in windowless rooms." 

Malcolm nodded. "At least there's no camera in mine here." He turned to Trevon. "There is no camera, right?" 

"None," Trevon confirmed. "So they didn't just watch you from windows. They used cameras." 

Malcolm went back to watching his surroundings. "There's no door to close here." 

"No, but the concept hasn't changed," Trevon assured him. "I'll keep watch to be sure no one wanders too close. Anything shared between us will remain between us." 

"Alright." 

"So that 'surgery' is over. Where are you now?" 

* * *

It was easier here to remember, Malcolm realized. Not as upsetting. "It was a different room. High ceiling, bright lights. It couldn't lift my head, move my arm. I remembered." 

"Were you in pain?" 

Malcolm shook his head. "They got the part right after the surgeries. I wasn't happy. To still be alive. I thought they'd do it again. They did do it again." 

"Stay in the moment. What else did you feel?" 

He was lying flat on his back. He remembered and his stomach felt bad. "Ill. I felt ill, my heart was pounding and I started to shake. There was a machine behind me. It was beeping with my pulse. It clacked and I could feel this warm liquid enter my neck. A sedative. I felt the tubes." He demonstrated with his left hand. "They were keeping me alive. I thought about pulling them out." 

"What stopped you? The sedative?" 

"Hoshi," Malcolm replied. "I turned my head to get a better grip and she was there, just a few feet away." 

"Her presence didn't change the possibilities of them doing other surgeries. So why did she stop you?" 

"I couldn't leave her alone," Malcolm told him. "I was the senior officer. She was my responsibility. And it would just have been cruel." 

Trevon heard that descant again. "Did she know you were there?" 

"Not at first." He remembered watching her, fighting to stay awake. "She started to cry, turned her head to wipe her eyes. She saw me, saw my tubes. She found her tubes and cried some more. So I reached my hand out to her. She took it, then I gave in to the sedative." 

"Were you happy to be together? I don't mean happy with the circumstance." 

Malcolm felt sad now. She was alone on _Enterprise_. Not alone but without him. As he was without her. "Yes and no. No because it meant they did the same to her. But yes, because we had each other." 

"I read something interesting about a very bleak period of Earth history," Trevon told him. "Nazi concentration camps. Some survivors claim to have survived because they had someone else. Not someone to take care of them. But someone to care for." 

"I can believe that," Malcolm agreed. "But it also doesn't hurt to have someone take care of you. I think it works both ways. It did for us." 

"How else did her presence change things for you?" 

That one was easy. "It made me feel like I had to be stronger." But God, he felt so weak now. He probably couldn't get himself off the ground at this point. But it wasn't that kind of strength. "I had to be strong for her. To believe that _Enterprise_ would come. That Captain Archer wouldn't abandon us. And I was able to think more logically. They had to wait for us to heal from the crash injuries. They'd have to wait again." 

"That was good," Trevon affirmed. "You were able to return some to control to your cognitive brain. Now that you were together, did you communicate? Were you allowed to interact?" 

"They probably hoped so," Malcolm smirked. "Even pushed out beds closer together." 

Trevon lifted a finger. "Cameras! So they saw the hand-holding. Did you stop?" 

Malcolm shook his head. "Give me your hand." He held out his right hand, since Trevon was to his right. "Your left hand." Trevon did so. Malcolm turned their hands over and tapped with his thumb on the back of Trevon's hand. Then he let go. 

"Morris code!" Trevon exclaimed. "Very clever." 

"Morse. But yes, out of the view of the camera." 

"What did you 'talk' about?" 

Malcolm sighed. "I apologized to her. She said I needn't. Then she told me she was awake. I told her I was, too. I told her the first codename: Sarumon. As a group, we called them orcs." 

"Orcs are evil beings," Trevon remarked. "Did you think these orcs were evil?" 

Not the scientists. T-Rex, sure. But at the time? "Yes and no. Yes because they did that to us. But no, because we could see they didn't know they had hurt us. They treated us well enough after, changing our bandages, putting this pink salve on to help us heal. They tried to teach me their names, get me to say mine. I did my best to ignore them." 

"And when you were well enough to leave the beds?" 

"We had mats on the floor. We sat close together, hid our faces behind our hair--it had grown out--and we whispered very quietly. We slept holding hands to help 'fight each other's demons' when we slept." He missed her hand so much now. 

"Did that help?" Trevon asked, skeptically. "You still had nightmares?" 

"Yeah, it didn't really help," Malcolm admitted. "But it didn't hurt either." 

"Did the 'orcs' try to communicate in other ways?" 

"They never stopped," Malcolm said. "They brought in a video screen, not unlike the one in my room. Children's programs to hopefully teach me the language. The first one was on a rack near the floor. So I turned it off." 

Trevon grinned as well. "A little passive resistance. I assume they turned it back on." 

Malcolm nodded. "Hoshi unplugged it. So they put it high on the wall. It was in this time that we made a plan." 

"To escape?" Trevon asked. "But that didn't work out." 

Malcolm shook his head. "Escape wasn't possible. Even if, by some miracle, we made it out, there was still a desert and we didn't exactly blend in. No, the plan was for when they made one of us talk." 

"Ah, so you wouldn't have to think 'on the spot', as they say. 

_Did he mean on your feet?_ Malcolm nodded. "We'd stick with Frodo and Sam and the story of _The Lord of the Rings_. Oh, and they brought in a linguist. I almost forgot about him." 

"You could tell them apart?" 

How to describe it? "Their faces weren't all that different," he decided, "it was more how they acted. Different personalities. Like when there are two words that sound alike, and you have to use context to get the meaning." 

"I like that analogy," Trevon commented. "So you could differentiate based on their mannerisms, their 'context.'" Malcolm nodded. Trevon went on, "You had approximately four weeks between procedures. One week in a coma, at least one in bed and bandages. What else did you do?" 

"I tried to keep Hoshi's spirits up." Malcolm remembered her fearful questions at night. _Why hasn't _Enterprise_ come?_ "I didn't remind her that they'd do it again, as soon as we were healed enough. I thought that was all we had to be afraid of." 

"But you didn't believe what you were telling her then." 

"Not really." But it was still worth telling her. "What good would it have done to take away any last hope she might have?" 

"Did you have any?" 

Malcolm dropped his head. "Only a thread. A very thin thread." 

Trevon's voice was very gentle when he asked the next question. "You said you thought that another surgery was all you had to fear. What happened to make you afraid again?" 

Malcolm shut his eyes tight. He uncrossed his legs and pulled his knees up tight to his chest. 

"Malcolm, you can say it," Trevon coaxed. "Remember, I've been there." 

That should have made it easier. But with his eyes closed and his face in his knees, he couldn't see the pond, or the ducks, or the squirrels. He felt sick to his stomach. 

"Sexuality is a very private thing to most humanoids." Trevon's voice was quiet, close to his right ear. "It's a vulnerability. And when that vulnerability is violated it hurts us deeply." 

"I wasn't raped," Malcolm breathed. As if there was a difference. It felt like he had been. "They touched—" No. He couldn't say it. 

"No, you were molested," Trevon agreed. "That it was done in the name of science doesn't change how it felt for you." 

Molested. A word he'd never thought would apply to himself. "I tried not to—" He couldn't finish it. He hadn't wanted it. Hadn't enjoyed it. 

"Your body responded the only it could have. You were restrained, drugged, and they followed through with their purpose. They stimulated you to collect a biological sample. You felt betrayed by your own body but you couldn't have stopped it." 

How did he know? Had he? But it didn't seem to be right. He never became aroused when a doctor examined him. "But with doctors?" 

"They don't intend to stimulate," Trevon stated. "Women generally do not become aroused by their gynecologists. They feel uncomfortable but not violated. If a doctor here needed that same sample, she'd hand you a vessel and send you to a private room to come up with it yourself. And you would consent to do it. What was done to you was not done with your consent. And that is molestation. It was also not private, so it was embarrassing. A double violation. For me, it was private but still without consent. And he taunted me with my betrayal, told me how I'd enjoyed it. It took a long time for me to understand that, physically, it was not abnormal. Continued physical stimulation will lead to ejaculation. They knew that. They probably had done the same with other beings, animals, in that lab." 

But it wasn't just that time. Why had it happened again? Then he remember what Trip had said. Enesh and a Buftanisian spy. A small Raptor. Biological samples. That's why Sméagol had apologized. 

"They did this in front of Hoshi?" Trevon asked. 

"She hid her face," Malcolm said, still so quiet he wasn't sure Trevon had even heard. A bird in the tree above him began to sing, and he remembered where he was. He still felt sick, but he lifted his head. "I broke their video screen." 

"Really?" Trevon backed up a bit. "That wasn't in my notes. I only got medically relevant files." 

Malcolm felt a breeze on the back of his neck. "I tossed a plate at it. Hoshi gave me her plate, and I broke the camera, too." 

"That's a bit more active resistance," Trevon commented with a smile. 

"Hoshi and I could talk openly for the first time in two months." The ducks were back for another swim. 

"And what did you talk about then, in your brief moment of semi-freedom." 

"I was stuck in what-ifs. If I had done something different as we crashed.... Hoshi reminded me that what-ifs never work. She suggested we use the broken glass to kill ourselves." 

Trevon leaned back in surprise. "She jumped straight to suicide, just when you'd gained some privacy, some small victory?" 

"That glass was our first real opportunity. With no camera, we'd have at least a few minutes to bleed out. However inadequate they were with anesthesia, they were brilliant with life support. If we accepted that _Enterprise_ wasn't coming, there was no future. It wasn't an emotional decision." 

Trevon seemed to consider that for a moment. "So why didn't you?" 

Malcolm sighed. "I talked her out of it." Of course, he was glad now that he had, but then? Then when Radagast and the spy came, when they took her away and cut him open again. He felt that he'd missed his one chance. "And they installed a new camera, got rid of the screen, and switched us to paper plates. I had known it wouldn't last. And we both knew something bad would happen." A lot happened. He dropped his head again. He could rationalize it now, so why did it still hurt to remember? 

He could feel Trevon leaning closer. "They collected another sample?" 

He decided to use that. To rationalize it. "Not them. It was at night. Radagast and a Raptor, a spy. I know that now. They did it secret. Hoshi caught on to that." 

"Was it easier to accept know that?" 

He really felt sick. The sandwich box was still nearby, if it came that. "I didn't know. Hoshi was drugged. She told me after." He reached out and found the box. "Trip told me about the spy." 

"So slightly more private but still without your consent," Trevon said. "You look ill. Are you feeling ill because of the memories, or do I need to get a doctor here?" 

"Memories," Malcolm breathed. 

"You can't vomit tucked up like that." 

"I don't know that I will," Malcolm told him. 

"But you might." When Malcolm didn't untuck, he went on. "You couldn't break the camera, so what did you do to regain your power?" 

"I didn't," Malcolm admitted. "I wouldn't eat. I wouldn't hold her hand. I couldn't be strong." 

"You lost your thread," Trevon surmised. "How did Hoshi react?" 

Those memories flooded in and the nausea started to ease. "She held me, said she'd be the strong one. And she told me _Enterprise_ would come." It felt like love, even then. "Bayzhoo even apologized." 

"Bayzhoo was Radagast?" 

Malcolm lifted his head. "No Bayzhoo apologized for what Radagast had done in secret. Radagast was a traitor. The Raptor was a spy." 

"Were they punished?" 

"Not that I knew then, but I never saw Radagast or the Raptor again," Malcolm told him. "But Trip told me the Raptor was executed. Radagast was Enesh, and he was traded to Buftantis with Hoshi." 

"You saw them take her?" 

Malcolm shook his head. "Found out after I came out of the coma." The ducks were halfway across the pond. 

Trevon put it together. "The second surgery. After which you attempted suicide several times. That seems more of an emotional decision." 

Malcolm sighed and lowered his legs. "I had nothing left. No future, no one to care for." 

"You said they were very good at life support. They saved you, over and over. What convinced you to stop?" 

That was easy. It was always the same answer. "Hoshi." 

"But she was gone," Trevon argued. 

"I didn't stop. They came up with new, very uncomfortable ways of restraining me. Then Bayzhoo told me that Hoshi was alive." 

"And you understood?" 

"A three-year-old could have understood," Malcolm told him. He grabbed a few leaves. He balled them up with his hands. "He used paper." Malcolm pointed a finger between him and Trevon. "You and I, Zheiren." He pointed to one side of the leaf ball. "Frodo. Buftanis." He pointed to the other side. 

"You revealed her codename at some point." 

Malcolm sighed. "I chanced calling out for her, quietly, and just once." 

Trevon nodded. "What had they done, in this second surgery?" 

"My back." He stiffened his back without realizing it. He concentrated on the ducks. The mother duck was on the opposite shore. 

"Did they release restraints, after Bayzhoo told you where Hoshi was?" 

Malcolm shook his head. "No, and I didn't try again so they needn't have bothered, but I couldn't have told them that." 

"You have a lot of will power to resist speaking for so long." 

"It wasn't a matter of willpower," Malcolm explained, "but of preservation. The orcs weren't evil. But the T-Rexes, the Raptors, were military. If they knew I could communicate...." 

"They'd do exactly what they did," Trevon completed his sentence. "Only it would have been sooner and thus more prolonged and probably more severe." 

"Not sure it could have got more severe," Malcolm said. "Or did you not read the notes on the manner of my execution? But yes, it would have started much sooner. Hell, if it hadn't been the one year out of three they mated, things might have ended differently. Some of them couldn't handle the added hormones as well as others." 

"Commander Tucker obviously read a different set of notes," Trevon replied. "I think it's time we get you back. Are you in pain?" 

"Let me tell you after we get me into that chair," Malcom answered. Trevon helped him get off the ground but Malcolm walked the short distance to the chair under his own power. And yes, he was in pain. So he was given a shot before he got back to his room. Trevon stopped the chair at the door but stayed close to make sure Malcolm didn't fall as he made his way to the restroom. Malcolm returned to the loveseat after. The clock in the room read 1335. 

Trip wouldn't be back for a few hours. He thought about turning on the video screen but the controller was at the bed. He'd have to get there and back or get there and stay there. And he didn't want to stay there. 

He used the arm of the loveseat to steady himself. He told himself it wasn't far and that every time he made that walk he'd get stronger. But by the time he reached the bed, he was very tired, and his legs felt like the gelatin he'd been fed the first days after the surgery. So he made a deal with himself. He'd stay one hour then go back to the loveseat and wait for Trip. 

* * *

Trip got back to the hospital at 1815. Malcolm was back on the loveseat, watching some program on the video screen, but he stood and walked, slowly, to the bed to switch it off. Trip noted he took a breather before heading back and dropping back onto the loveseat. "You're walking better," Trip commented. 

"Or at least more," Malcolm said. "Still wears me out, but I made a deal with the doctor." 

Trip grabbed the chair and rolled it over. "What kind of a deal?" 

"Well, I really enjoyed my time in the courtyard," Malcolm responded. 

Trip laughed. "She called you out." 

"We made an arrangement," Malcolm countered. "I can either go out there with you in the morning or with Trevon. And back here, I have to walk if I'm in this room." 

Trip frowned. "Seems a bit one-sided." 

"Well, I'm to ask for pain meds when I need them and submit to exams four times a day." He smiled lightly. "And they pulled the IV from my arm. So I'm taking that to mean no more sedative, no more of that infernal machine." 

Trip grinned. "So ya did get something good." 

"Besides," Malcolm added, "the walking will make me stronger. And the stronger I get, the better my chances of getting out of here." 

"Just don't push yourself too fast," Trip warned. "I know you want out of here, but it hasn't been a week yet. You got a new heart! And ya weren't exactly up to runnin' a marathon before that." 

"I know," Malcolm replied, "I've got to be smart about it. I spent eleven months trying to weaken myself. I know it will take time—a long time—to get my full strength back. Besides, I still get winded getting to the bed. They should be bringing dinner soon. You had yours?" 

Trip got an idea. "Nah, I'll wait and see what you get, then I'll run and get the same thing. We can have dinner together, almost like back in the mess hall." 

"Sounds good. How are things at R&D?" 

Trip sighed. "Wrapping up faster than I thought. Still, they're working on some big stuff there." Trip took a breath. This was going to be delicate. "Have you given any thought to what you'll do after you're all healed up?" 

Malcolm was quick to answer. "I'll go back to _Enterprise._

"I'm not saying you can't or you shouldn't," Trip held, "but maybe you've been through enough. It's dangerous out there." 

"A little over a year ago, this world was waiting to be destroyed, and that after the prototype weapon killed seven million," Malcolm argued. "It's dangerous here, too. Trip, if Hoshi wants to retire, I'll retire. But if she's on _Enterprise_ , I will be on _Enterprise._ Besides, I'm quite over being helpless and weak. I want to be useful again." 

"You can be." Trip wanted to reassure him. "I can't hardly imagine _Enterprise_ without you at Tactical, but if you—and Hoshi—want to stay planetside, you should give R&D a look. Hoshi can teach. You have a knack. R&D develops all kinds of systems, including weapons and defense." 

Malcolm sighed. "I'll keep that in mind. But we don't know what Hoshi wants. We never discussed leaving the ship until I needed a new heart. And then it was just to tell me that I was leaving and she had to stay." 

An orderly arrived with a tray of food. Trip got up and slid the tray over to where Malcolm was sitting. Malcolm lifted the cover, and Trip took note. Pork chops and a twice-baked potato. "I'll be back in ten minutes." Malcolm covered the plate again. 

Trip walked to the canteen as fast as he could without running and put his order in to go. It took a couple of minutes, but he got it and tried not to spill anything on his way back to Malcolm's room. He maneuvered the chair to the opposite corner of the tray. 

As they ate, Trip filled Malcolm in on some of the details of R&D projects that were more in line with Malcolm's interests, like explosives or energy-shielding. So Trip left him a PADD and promised to get more the next day. "You gotta work your mind, too," Trip said, "not just your body." 

* * *

Malcolm spent a few hours going over the specs. It was nice to his brain for more than watching movies. He'd spent more time bored than vivisected or tortured in Zheiren. But eventually his eyelids started to get heavy and he set that PADD aside. He wanted to update Hoshi before he tried to sleep. He picked up the PADD with his previous letter and started another. 

_Dear Hoshi,_

_Things have gotten better here. Not enough so that I don't miss you. I went to the courtyard today. I spent a few hours in the shade of a real tree under a blue sky. There's a small pond with a little family of ducks. I watched all the little ducklings swimming with their mother, first with Trip then during therapy._

_I'm following your advice. It was hard at first but it's sometimes a bit easier. We talked about something very personal today. I won't, can't, write it in this letter. But you were there when it happened. Twice. So I think you can guess. You looked away, and I thank for that. And you were strong for me when I couldn't be._

_Is it possible to love someone in reverse? I didn't think it was possible to love you any more than I already do, but I look back at our time together there, and maybe even before that, back on_ Enterprise _, and I feel myself having loved you then._

_I wanted to share that courtyard with you. You need it, too, I think. I know you got to go outside, but not in freedom. You shared those skies with me, the fields. The snow. Sometimes it seems so long ago and at others like it was just last minute._

_I still wouldn't trade any of it, if it means I wouldn't know I love you. You are the single most important thing in my life. Trip has talked about an option, if we should decide to leave _Enterprise_ and live a quieter life. I don't know that I want any other options. My first inclination is to return to my post, protecting _Enterprise _and her crew. Maybe that will change after a few months here. And therapy. Maybe it won't. I don't know what you want in this regard. You weren't given a choice._

_Let me just say, I want to be wherever you are. If you want to return to the safer life of a teacher, I'll stay. If you want to remain the Communications Officer on_ Enterprise _, I'll work my way back to being Tactical Officer. If you want to retire to Risa, I'll follow you there. Anywhere you are._

_I wish I could just talk to you like before. But I do feel better when I write these letters. You are helping me even from afar. I know you won't get my letters until Trip returns but maybe they'll make you feel better to read them, too. I guess I'm renewing that old tradition of long letters expressing my feelings to the woman I love._

_I think this new heart loves you, too. I can feel it beating a bit faster when I think of you. Nothing to worry about. They scan it quite often but have only had good things to say. They have taken me off that damn pulse monitor. You know there was one there. I couldn't stand it. No more sedative. New nerves are doing fine as well. They added or replaced something in my eye. Fixed it, I assume from whatever they did to it the first time. I'm glad they never touched your perfect eyes._

_I'm walking more. From the door to the bed, from the bed to the loveseat, to the restroom. Can't get out the door on my own yet, but I'm working on it. One day, I'm going to literally sweep you off your feet._

_Love,_

_Malcolm_


	8. Chapter Eight

**Star Trek: Enterprise  
Finding Home**  
by Philippe de la Matraque  
Sequel to _Alien Us_

**Chapter Eight**

Dr. MacCormack yawned. Quarterly reports were not her favorite part of the job. It was late. Quite late. Dinner was hours ago. She'd had something from the canteen sent up and ate at her desk. The rest of the evening had been reports from each department and then writing her report, bringing all the information together. She'd so much rather work directly with patients, even closer than she had with Reed. She liked the detective work of diagnostics particularly. But she tolerated this interruption four times a year in return for overseeing and leading her team of fine physicians, nurses and therapists. 

Another fifteen minutes and she'd be done and ready to head home. She took another swig of her coffee and winced because it had gone cold. She heard footsteps running and getting closer. She looked up to see Mark, one of Dr. Varnis's nurses arrive in her doorway. "There's a situation, ma'am." 

MacCormack came around her desk and followed Mark. She could hear the commotion before she saw the situation. 

"You murdered her! You and your people. You butchered her like a piece of meat." It was an older man, paunchy, with an air of man used to wielding authority. In an overbearing sort of way. A dark-haired, middle-aged woman stood a bit farther away. Dr. Varnis stood between the man and the Recovery corridor. 

"Mr. Reed," Varnis tried, raising her voice slightly. 

"You mutilated my daughter's corpse. Left us little more than a husk to bury. And why? She had months left. You killed her and for what? He wasn't worth killing her!" 

"Get Commander Charles Tucker III here ASAP," she whispered to Mark, "and get Security. Then she deliberately walked up behind the man. "That is quite enough!" she commanded. "This is a hospital and our patients need their rest." 

"You!" He rounded on her. "You signed off on it! Killed my daughter!" 

"Your daughter chose to be an organ donor for her brother and others." 

He used the same commanding tone. "She was compromised and you took advantage of her condition." 

"Why don't you come with me to my office," she offered without softening her tone, "and we can discuss this without disturbing any more patients." 

Security came at that moment. "Sir," Serena interjected, "I suggest you go with our CO or we'll remove you from these premises." James and Kim stood behind her. They made an imposing team. 

And that worked. The man, Retired Admiral Stuart Reed, MacCormack had surmised, stopped yelling. 

MacCormack turned and started back to her office. She half-hoped Reed and his wife chose to leave but she didn't look back. She knew Serena and her men would get the Reeds to follow. 

She made it back to her desk, and pulled a PADD from her drawer just before the Reeds entered. She set her jaw and spread her arms as she leaned forward to splay her fingers on her desktop. 

Admiral Reed entered with his wife following. Serena took up the rear. 

"Please, sit," MacCormack offered, only now softening her voice. She indicated the chairs in front of her desk. They sat and Serena adopted a parade rest posture behind them. 

"Your daughter's own physician found her competent to make the decision," MacCormack informed them. She handed the PADD to Mrs. Reed. The admiral snatched it from her. "And she was fully congnitive when she sat right where you are, Mr. Reed, and volunteered to be her brother's donor." 

"Admiral Reed," he spat back. 

"Retired," MacCormack reminded him. "She was adamant that she did not want her brother to have to wait. Madeline Reed, herself, initiated the energy pulse that her sent her into brain death. She chose this. I am sorry for your loss, but your son is alive because of her sacrifice." 

"And her hand?" he demanded. "Who got her hand?" 

"Generally the names of donors and recipients are kept confidential. The relationship between your daughter and your son made that impossible. But I'll not disclose any more. The hand, however, was amputated according to her will." 

"What will? We haven't found her will." 

"The hand and the return of her body were the only obligations from her will the involved this hospital," MacCormack stated. "Beyond that, we are not in the business of executing wills. However, the general custom is that those named in the will are contacted by the executor of said will. Now, if you don't mind, I have reports to finish. Lt. Brockmeyer will see you out." 

"I'm not finished!" He shouted, rising. 

"Yes, you are," MacCormack countered, "and if I see or hear you in my halls again, I'll have you arrested for putting recovering patients are risk." She nodded to Serena. 

Mr. Reed scowled, but he got around the chare to leave. Mrs. Reed followed but never said a word. It left MacCormack to wonder if she shared her husband's sentiments or was too cowed by him to protest. 

MacCormack called Trevon and asked him to return. If Lt. Reed had heard any of that, he was going to need help. This was the _worst_ way for him to find out that his sister was his donor. 

* * *

After MacCormack and Security had left the corridors, Dr. Varnis and her nurses went door to door, reassuring patients and helping them get back to sleep. They had started where the commotion had started and moved back toward the Recovery wing. Kelen met her in the junction between the two wings just as she left Sgt. Ip's room. "He's not in his room," Kelen whispered. 

"Lt. Reed?" Varnis asked for clarification. "He can barely walk. Where would he go? You checked the restroom?" 

"Yes, doctor," Kelen replied. "It's empty." 

"Keep looking," Varnis told her. "I'll let MacCormack know." 

Kelen went one way and Varnis went the other. MacCormack was back in her office. She was just turning off the computer so she must have finished her reports. Varnis knocked on the door frame. When MacCormack saw her, she said, "Lt. Reed isn't in his room." 

"It's imperative we find him," MacCormack stated. She came around the desk. "And whoever finds him needs to approach him gently. Could he have heard them?" 

"Patients three doors down from him heard," Varnis replied. 

"Thanks, Janis, let's finish calming them and find him." 

* * *

Trip walked back into Starfleet Medical at 2213. The lights were dimmed and there was a whispered frenzy in the corridors as he approached Malcolm's room. Trip went straight there. But Malcolm wasn't in the room. He checked the restroom, even under the bed. Mom always said when you looked everywhere something that's lost should be, you gotta start looking where it shouldn't be. 

He went back to the hall and spotted Dr. MacCormack. He wasn't sure why she was still here so late. "What's going on?" he whispered. "Where's Malcolm?" 

MacCormack pursed her lips like she didn't like what she was about to say. "We don't know." 

Trip wasn't sure he heard that right. "What do ya mean, ya don't know?" 

"There was disturbance this evening," she explained. "Mr. and Mrs. Reed came, after hours, claiming they wanted to see their son. Dr. Varnis wasn't going to allow that. Mr. Reed started shouting some rather incorrect and very cruel things." 

Trip felt his stomach drop. "What kind of things?" 

MacCormack sighed. "That we had murdered his daughter and mutilated her body to save his son, who he expressed wasn't worth it." 

Trip couldn't breathe. "His sister?" It felt like Lizzie had died all over again. 

"She volunteered, Commander," MacCormack said her defense. "She wanted to save her brother." 

"I saw her," Trip said. "I talked to her. I had tea with her the night we arrived. She said she was sick but she seemed fine." 

"Brain tumor," she replied. "Incurable." 

Trip pushed the confusion aside. "When were you plannin' on droppin' that on him?" 

"There was no good time to do so," she held. "I would have risked his health. But this is the absolute worst way for him to find out, and he's going to need a friend when we find him. Do you have any idea where he might have gone? He hasn't escaped the compound. We checked security sensors at the doors." 

"Could they have taken him somehow?" Trip didn't want to think his parents were that evil, but why else was he so hard to find? 

MacCormack shook her head. "Not unless they had someone else working with them, but it would be on the sensors. Besides, Security escorted them out." 

Trip rubbed one hand through his hair and tried to think. Malcolm could barely cross the room. "What about Trevon? Can't he contact him telepathically?" 

"I've tried." Trip spun around to see the Betazoid approach. "He's not answering me." 

Then he remember this morning. Malcolm was so much more relaxed at the park. But that would have been a very long walk for him. "The courtyard?" 

"How could he manage that?" But MacCormack pulled out a communicator anyway. "Serena, scan the courtyard." 

Trip counted the seconds as they waited for a reply. "One patient, male, near the pond." 

The pond? Trip started running. Trevon was right beside him. "He's aquaphobic," Trip told him as they ran. 

* * *

He had recognized the voice shouting, and the words had cut him to his soul. Maddie was dead and he wasn't worth it. Maddie was dead. That was why she hadn't come. The shouting continued. He stood, knocking the PADD to the floor. He ignored it, couldn't hear it. The walls around him were stark, the bed across the room was a metal slab anchored to the wall. But they'd left the door open. He had to escape. He had to try. 

He caught the door frame, turned right. His legs felt sluggish but he kept going, using the handrail in the hall for support. He stepped with his legs and pulled with his arms. The walls were closing in, he had to make it out. The pain in his chest nearly drove him to his knees. Maddie was dead. He pulled on the rail and rose again, aiming for the bright spot at the end of the collapsing tunnel he was in. 

He could barely breathe for the exertion--and the pain. He had to get out. "You mutilated her corpse!" he heard again. "This is your fault! You weren't worth the expense. Swim! You know how to swim! You cost me everything!" 

It was like he was being cut open but this time he could move. This time he could gasp. If he could just get away. 

The light, the tunnel's end. He pushed open the doors, stumbled out in the crisp night air. But it was hot to him. Hot and dry under an oppressive sun. He kept going. He could see water ahead. 

By the time he reached the edge of the pond, he was crawling on his knuckles and his knees. The grass was cool and slightly damp but in his mind it was sand and it burned his fingers, his legs. He had to get to the water. 

"Come to me, Malcolm." A woman's voice. Hoshi? "Come closer. I can save you." No, not Hoshi, but he recognized her just the same. "The air is hurting you. Come to me." 

His fingers sank into the mud and the water licked his wrists, seeped under the splints and into the bandages. He sat back and panted against the weight he felt. The hurt. 

"We belong together, Malcolm," the voice sang to him. It was quiet, sultry, alluring. "I could have saved you from the bullies. From the orcs. From your father. Come to me, and I will take away all that pain." 

He couldn't feel the water on his knees, the mud on his shins as he knelt by the pond. He couldn't think. He could only feel the pain, hear the voice. In the very deepest part of himself, sinking him into the ground. It hurt more than anything T-Rex or Sauron had done, and he couldn't make it stop. She said she could. 

* * *

Trip saw him kneeling by the pond. His white pajamas stood out starkly against the dark of the grass. Trip ran harder until he reached him, and he slid the last few feet so that he stopped at Malcolm's level. "Malcolm?" 

Malcolm didn't turn to him. He had a dazed look on his face. Tears were falling down his cheeks and he was breathing heavy. 

Trip ignored the mud on his pant legs as best he could. It was cold and wet. He'd never seen Malcolm like this. Trip waved Trevon away for now. Others had come, too. Trip kept all his focus on Malcolm. 

He put a hand on Malcolm's shoulder and moved closer. Malcolm's head turned, and in the wan light, he looked half dead. "Hoshi will understand," he breathed. 

No! The realization slammed into him. Malcolm would drown himself to stop the pain. Trip took both of his shoulders and turned him to face him better. "No, Malcolm," he argued. "She won't." He took Malcolm's face in his hands. "If you die, she will die. She'll find a way, just like she did in Buftanis." Then he pulled Malcolm to him and held him. "You can survive this, Malcolm." 

Trip stood, lifting Malcolm with him and stepped away from the water. Malcolm was dead weight so they only got a couple feet before they dropped again. Trip just held him. It felt like hours before Malcolm moved at all. He dropped his head to Trip's shoulder and let out a weak sob. 

Trip held him tighter. "I know it hurts, Malcolm," he whispered in his ear. Tears welled up in his own eyes. "I know how much it hurts. You tried to help me through it and I pushed you way. Let me help you through it." 

Trevon came closer. He was pushing a wheelchair. Another doctor stood off to the side. Trip waved Trevon over, and, between them, they lifted Malcolm and poured him into the chair. He was limp again, like a doll, and he just stared at the pond. Trip's mind whirled. Malcolm couldn't stay here. Not like he was, not with the courtyard within reach. They would have to restrain him. That would make things worse. 

He had to get Malcolm out of here. He had to take him home. He looked to Trevon. "Stay with him. Move him back, under a tree, away from the pond. Don't leave his side." 

"I won't," Trevon promised. 

Trip held Malcolm's shoulders. "I'm going to go get your stuff. I'll be right back." 

Then he ran. Past the doctor, the gawking nurses and orderlies, and Security. He ran through the doors and down the corridors, all the way to Malcolm's room. He fished the bag from under the bed and put the PADD he'd left with Malcolm into it. He found another on the floor and turned it on. It was letter, a love letter. To Hoshi. He turned it off and tucked into the bag. 

"Where will you take him?" 

MacCormack was there. "He can't stay here. They know where he is." 

"Do you think they would intentionally hurt him?" 

"They already _have_ hurt him," Trip countered. "He was gonna drown himself in that pond." 

"It hasn't been a week since surgery. He needs medical care," she argued. 

"North Mississippi Medical Center in Tupelo. Real close to my parents' place. You can coordinate his care with them, but I'm takin' him home." Trip looked around the room for anything else. "My brother-in-law is a home health nurse. He's between assignments." He checked the bathroom and found some grooming implements. 

"Commander," she started but Trip cut her off. 

He couldn't let her override him. "He was doin' better. Healing, talking. He talked to Trevon! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get Malcolm Reed to talk about himself? It took a near-death experience with him for me. The two of us in a disabled shuttle, light-years away from _Enterprise_ with not enough oxygen and a whole bottle of bourbon. He can't stay here." 

She nodded. "I'll need to get his files transferred. And I'll need the address." 

He had everything. It was time to go. "Get 'em and meet me in the courtyard. You might want to clear it of unnecessary people 'cause I'm puttin' my flitter down right in the middle of it." 

She nodded and they left the room together. She went toward her office and he went toward the exit. As he neared the flitter, a woman stepped out of the shadows. She was carrying what looked like a silver briefcase. "Commander Tucker?" She had a British accent like Malcolm and Madeline. 

"I'm a little busy right now," he told her. 

"You work with Lt. Malcolm Reed?" she asked, stepping closer. 

Trip stopped and turned to face her. "Who are you?" 

"My name is Sarah Farmer. His sister, Madeline, worked for my firm. She asked me to be the executor of her will. I need to see Malcolm Reed. I have to give him this." She held up the case. 

"I can take it to him," Trip offered, softening his tone. 

She shook her head. "I have to transfer it directly to him." 

Trip sighed. "Well then, get in. But when we get there, make it quick and I'll do the talking. He's not really in a good place right now." 

"I imagine not," she said, stepping into the flitter. "I saw Mr. and Mrs. Reed storm out of there a while ago. I saw him at the funeral, too. He's turned his grief into a furious anger." 

Trip got in, sat in the pilot's seat and fired up the engine. "You know them?" 

She sat in the passenger seat. "No, I knew Madeline. But it was easy to pick them out at the service. I tried to get here before them." 

The flitter lifted from the ground. Trip took it over the hospital. He used the comm system to call home, audio only. 

"Trip." His mom. 

"I'm bringing him back with me," Trip told her. 

"I understand. We'll be ready." He closed the channel. 

The courtyard was below them. He lowered the flitter and turned off the engine. 

Ms. Farmer put a hand on his arm to stop him from getting up. "She loved her brother very much. I got that much just from talking with her. She was very proud of him. She recorded a journal after she got sick. It's in this case. He should watch it, but maybe he should watch the last entry first. She had been depressed about her illness. Her death seemed like a waste of a young and talented life. Then she heard her brother needed a heart. She was happy the last time I saw her. She felt her death would have meaning because she could save him. He needs to hear that, I should think. From her." 

That matched with what MacCormack had said about Madeline volunteering. Trip got up and opened the door. 

* * *

Trevon had wheeled Malcolm to the nearest tree and turned him away from the pond. Malcolm didn't try to leave the chair. He hadn't move at all. Trevon waited for Dr. Varnis to finish her scan. Then he knelt on one knee in front of the chair. "Malcolm," he said, talking very gently, "please, talk to me." 

"I'm not Sam." Trevon was startled. But Malcolm's lips hadn't moved. "I'm Faramir." Trevon felt a great weight on his chest, and he realized it was from Malcolm's mind. So he steeled himself, used his training to block the wave of sadness that poured from the man in that chair. He focused on the words, the names. Sam and Faramir. Sam had been his codename. Why Faramir? Less favored son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor. Favored son, Boromir, had died. Faramir had asked his father if he'd wished their places had been reversed, if he had died instead of Boromir. Denethor said he did wish it. That fit the situation. Fortunately, he was a fast reader. He'd finished the third book just this evening. 

_Faramir outlived Denethor,_ he communicated back to Malcolm. _Aragorn saved him from the Black Breath, and he won the heart of Éowyn. Just as you won the heart of Hoshi Sato._

But Malcolm said no more, and Trevon couldn't be certain he had heard. The dark, pounding melody had drowned out the descant. And Hoshi wasn't here to reinstate it. 

* * *

Trip found Trevon and Malcolm and motioned for Ms. Farmer to follow. Trevon stood and Trip knelt in his place in front of his friend. "This woman needs to give you something," he told Malcolm. "Something from Madeline." 

Ms. Farmer came closer. There was a small device attached to her case. She put the case on the arm of the chair and lifted the device. She pressed her thumb to it. "Now his," she whispered. 

Trip had to help Malcolm put his thumb on it. It beeped and the device came away. She put the case on the ground next to the chair, then nodded and backed away. 

Trip looked to Trevon. "Can you put that in the flitter?" 

Trevon nodded. "Yes, and I'll help you get him in." He picked up the case and walked toward the vehicle. 

Trip looked at Malcolm and was sorry for the time he'd call him the grim reaper. Something very wrong in the Reed family had made Malcolm the way he was. 

Dr. MacCormack arrived with a couple PADDs as Trip pushed Malcolm toward the flitter. "I've contacted the Med Center. I'll coordinate with Dr. Perez. He'll need to see Malcolm as soon as he's able." They reached the flitter. Trevon was inside and they both worked to move Malcolm from the chair to the passenger seat. Trevon folded the empty chair and tucked it into the back. Then he moved forward and whispered into Trip's ear. "I need to keep working with him." 

"You may be the only one who can," Trip agreed, touching his temple. MacCormack stuck her head in after Trevon stepped out. "First one is instructions for your brother-in-law." Trip took the PADD she handed him and stowed it in Malcolm's bag with the others. "Second is for you. I need the address." 

Trip took it and wrote his parents' address before handing it back. "Trevon's gonna need that, too." 

"He's assigned here." 

Trip took a breath and knew he was about to betray a confidence. But it had to be Trevon. Trip leaned in close and whispered in her ear. "Malcolm is a telepath. He needs Trevon." 

It took her a beat but her eyes went wide. "I'll make it happen." Then she handed him a blanket. "Keep him warm." She leaned back out and stepped away. Trip closed the door then tucked the blanket around Malcolm. Malcolm didn't react. He looked so lost. Trip sat down and lifted the flitter from the ground. "We're goin' home, Malcolm." 

* * *

Trevon stood beside Dr. MacCormack and watched the flitter lift off. _Zheiren didn't break him,_ he told her with his mind. _His parents shattered him._

"He's a telepath?" she asked, replying in kind. "How is that even possible?" 

_We didn't get that far, but it happened there, in Zheiren. No one else should know. He's been studied enough._

"He's been hurt enough," she agreed. Then she spoke aloud. "I'll get you out there as soon as possible." Then they both turned and walked back into the hospital. 


	9. Chapter Nine

**Star Trek: Enterprise  
Finding Home**  
by Philippe de la Matraque  
Sequel to _Alien Us_

**Chapter Nine**

It was after eleven by the time Trip set the flitter down. Malcolm hadn't said a word the whole hour it took to get home. Trip powered down then turned to look at his friend. And he wondered if Malcolm could come out of this. His eyes seemed unfocussed and his cheeks were tear-stained. He looked like an empty shell of a man, and Trip sincerely hoped he or Trevon could reach him before Trip had to go back to _Enterprise._ That was scheduled for Thursday, in just two more days. 

"Can ya walk?" he asked Malcolm, "or do you want the chair?" 

Malcolm didn't respond or even act like he'd heard. Still, he had to get Malcolm up either way. Trip took the blanket off and laid it across the back of his own chair. Then he put his hands under Malcolm's arms and lifted him up. And he stayed up. Trip put the blanket over Malcolm's shoulders. Then, holding on to Malcolm's shoulders, he guided him to the hatch. 

The hatch opened and Trip saw his dad and Miguel. "I don't know if he can step out," Trip told them. 

Miguel nodded then reached in and put one arm on the back of Malcolm's knees. Trip got a better grip on Malcolm's upper half, and the two of them got Malcolm past the lip of the hatch. And again, he stood. That's when Trip saw his mom. 

She approached and kissed Trip on the cheek. She looked at Malcolm and put a hand against the side of Malcolm's face. "Welcome home, Malcolm." Then she moved to his other side. She and Trip got Malcolm walking toward the open door of the house. 

Behind him, Trip heard Dad and Miguel in the flitter, and he know they were getting Malcolm's bag and the wheelchair. Trip had to sort of lift Malcolm over the step. Mom had stepped back but she joined them again inside the house. "Your room, Trip," she said. So they went down the hall to the first door on the right. Trip noted they'd cleaned it up. He always had some projects to work on scattered about. Miguel entered behind them as Trip sat Malcolm down on the bed. "We need to get him out of those wet clothes." 

"I'll do it," Trip replied. "I helped him dress recently. Besides he might mistake you for a rather large pterodactyl. I'll try and introduce you tomorrow." Miguel nodded and fished out a T-shirt and some sleep pants from Malcolm's bag. Then he stepped out of the room. 

"Your pants are all muddy," Trip told Malcolm. "Heck, mine are, too. Let's get 'em changed then you can get in bed." 

He stood Malcolm up again and tugged his pants down to his ankles. He noted the bandages were also muddy and wet. He realized he'd have to introduce Miguel tonight. He sat Malcolm again and lifted one foot and the other until the wet pants were off. He worked in reverse to get the clean pair on. It was like dressing an over-sized doll. He remembered Lizzie playing with dolls when she was little. Still, he wasn't sure how exactly to get Malcolm's shirt changed. 

Mom stepped in then and pulled the blanket off Malcolm's shoulders. She lifted his shirt up to his armpits and, one by one, got it off his arms and over his head. She pulled the clean one over his head and gently inserted each arm. "I remember dressing you like this, Trip," she said, smiling. "You were quite a bit smaller then." 

Trip put the blanket back on Malcolm's shoulders. "His bandages need changed." 

"I'll get Miguel." She left and Miguel returned a minute later with a med bag over his shoulder. 

"Malcolm," Trip tried. "This is Miguel, my brother's husband. He's gonna be around to help you." 

"Hello, Malcolm," Miguel offered. He knelt down in front of Malcolm. "I'm gonna look at your ankles, okay?" 

Malcolm's head was down, so maybe he saw Miguel, but Trip wasn't sure. It only took Miguel a few minutes to strip off the dirty bandages and put nice, clean ones back on. "You're healing well," he told Malcolm. Then he turned to Trip. "Can you get a wet cloth, please?" 

"Uh, yeah." Miguel started on Malcolm's left wrist and Trip went to the adjoining bathroom and wet a washcloth with hot water. He took it back to Miguel. 

Miguel had the splint and bandages off the one wrist. He held it still with one hand and cleaned Malcolm's fingers with the other. Trip used the cloth to wipe the edges of the splint, then Miguel put it back on after he'd replaced the bandages. They did the same for Malcolm's right wrist. "If you can get him up, I'll pull back the covers," Miguel offered. 

Trip stood Malcolm up and held him there. "We're gonna help you through this, Malcolm. You're a survivor, remember?" 

Miguel got the bed ready then helped Malcolm to lie down. Then Malcolm turned himself over to face the wall. Miguel tucked the blankets around him. "We need to talk," he whispered to Trip. Then he left the room. 

"Try and get some sleep, Malcolm," Trip said. "I'll just be in the kitchen with my folks. I want you to feel at home here. You're my brother now, Malcolm." He turned, grabbed Miguel's PADD, and left, wiping a tear from his own cheek. 

Mom hugged him when he got to the kitchen. "What happened? He's not how you described him." 

Trip rubbed a hand through his hair and sat down. He suddenly felt very tired. He handed Miguel the PADD and Dad put a mug of coffee in front of him. "He was. He was doing fine. We went to the park this morning. He loved it out there. We talked at dinner." He sighed. "After I left, his folks showed up. His dad started yelling that they had murdered their daughter and cut her up to save her brother who wasn't worth it. He heard that." 

"His sister was his donor?" Miguel asked. "Did he know? That's gotta cause mixed feelings." 

"He didn't," Trip said. "I didn't." 

Mom looked like she might start crying. "That poor man. He's only feeling hurt right now. His sister is dead and his father didn't care that he almost died. You were right to be worried about his family." 

"His sister apparently volunteered," Trip told him. "She had brain cancer. Terminal. She chose to be his donor. I met her. She hid it. Said she was sick, but not that sick, ya know?" 

"Was he like that when you got there?" Dad asked. 

Trip took a sip then set the mug back down. "He was kneelin' by the pond in that park. He was thinking of drowning himself. He's aquaphobic and he was gonna drown himself." 

"He's going to need a mental health professional," Miguel pointed out. 

"One's comin'" Trip replied. "The one he'd been talkin' to there." Trip put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. "I've never seen him like that. How can I leave if he's still like that?" 

Dad put a hand on his back. "He's family, and we'll help him get through it." 

Trip dreamt of finding Malcolm face down in that pond and snapped awake. Miguel was right there. There was a soft light behind the curtains that hung behind the couch he was laying on. "My turn for the couch," Miguel said, sitting down by Trip's legs. He looked tired. "I checked on him through the night. No change. He never even closed his eyes. Physically, I can tell he's in pain. That's to be expected so soon after major surgery. I left a message for Dr. Perez to see if I can give him something. It might help him sleep." 

Trip sat up and rubbed his eyes. "His heart?" 

"Still pumpin'" Miguel assured him. "A lot of that pain is likely emotional. Even with what happened in the last year, the stuff with his family probably goes a lot deeper." 

"Something happened when he was twelve," Trip told him. "I wish I knew what." 

"I hope your guy gets here soon, but I need some sleep. Mom's got breakfast ready. Go get it before it gets cold." 

Trip stood and stretched his legs. He went down the hall to the main bathroom and took care of his needs. Then he stopped in his—Malcolm's room. The lights were off and the curtains drawn, so it was still fairly dark. Malcolm hadn't moved. And yes, Trip could see his eyes still open once his own eyes adjusted to the dark again. "It's morning, Malcolm," he whispered. "The sun's shining out that window. I can hear the birds chirpin' outside. It's gonna be a pretty day. If you're up to it, I can take you for a walk in the neighborhood. We still have the wheelchair, so you don't have to worry about gettin' tired." 

Nothing. Trip tried again. "Madeline loved you, Malcolm. She really did. Your dad was wrong. She gave you her heart. She was sick, more than she let on. She wanted to save you and she did." 

Then he remembered the metal case, the one Ms. Farmer had left. Trip picked it up and set it on the desk. He opened it. Inside were two PADDs. One had a list. A very short list. The first item was an address. Trip guessed it was Madeline's London apartment. The second item was all contents of said apartment to be kept or disposed of in any manner the recipient chose. So, in a sense, she left him everything. 

Third was a small container, for memorial purposes, if desired. Trip found it and gave it a shake. It sounded like sand, only softer and he guessed it was ashes. It was too small to be all her body, and Ms. Farmer had mentioned a funeral. So this was just a small amount in case Malcolm wanted some sort of memorial. He put the container back. 

The final item on the list was the other PADD: a video-journal of the deceased, to be viewed by her beloved brother. He pulled out the PADD and turned it on. He could see the first entry was more than six months back. He queued up the last entry, from the week before she died. He didn't play it. That was for Malcolm. He switched off the PADD and put it back on in the case. Then he closed the case and put it back on the floor. 

In a very small way, Trip felt jealous of Malcolm. He had a whole apartment of things from his sister, some of her ashes, and her own words. Trip lost everything of Lizzie. Her house was gone, her body vaporized. There were no good-byes or last I-love-you's. 

Trip had parents that loved him but nothing of his sister. Malcolm had everything from his sister and awful parents. Trip wasn't jealous of them, for sure. And he wasn't jealous of all the hurt Malcolm was stuck in, or how he felt without Hoshi, or everything he suffered in Zheiren. Malcolm needed help, more than Trip knew how to give, and he hoped Trevon would come soon. 

He made sure Malcolm was still tucked in well, then went to the kitchen. 

* * *

Dr. Koy Trevon left the house where he would be staying. It was within walking distance of the address Commander Tucker had given Dr. MacCormack. The elderly couple he would be staying with had offered a furnished guest room. They were happy to share meals and offered free use of the kitchen. They only asked for one hour of therapy, together, each week. They had been quite terrified after the Xindi attack. And while they had not lost anyone they were particularly close with, they were traumatized by the thought of the Xindi's return to destroy the planet. This was somewhat alleviated by the destruction of the planet-killing weapon by the _Enterprise_ crew. 

But, still, they had nightmares and such. And they had issues as a couple. They were committed to their marriage, but the wife was more laid back and had less severe trauma whereas her husband's was worse. He felt she was losing patience with his recovery, and she felt he wasn't trying hard enough to recover. 

It would be a complicated but more typical trauma case than that presented by Malcolm Reed. Trevon was unsure yet of how to reach the man. Obviously family issues could stem from as far back as early childhood, even from the womb. Whereas he'd been assigned to help Malcolm with his trauma over the last year, he would now have to widen the scope to Malcolm's early and deepest hurts. And that could only happen if Malcolm could communicate in some manner. Last night, that had not been possible except to rename himself Faramir from Sam. 

Sam represented the early days of his stay in Zheiren, when he buoyed Hoshi's Frodo up. Frodo had been increasingly burdened by the Ring he carried. Faithful Sam had helped Frodo find hope over and over in the depths of Mordor. 

Faramir, on the other hand, was a faithful son of his ungrateful father. Denethor showered affection on his elder son, Boromir, and had none left for his younger son, who could never measure up in his father's eyes. Typically, that family dynamic would cause a rift between the siblings. The favored child would often mock the unfavored status of the other. And the unfavored child would typically act out, fulfilling the father's view of him as inadequate. But in the fictional case of Denethor's sons, he found a loving relationship between the brothers and a valiant, upright unfavored son—even one who could resist the call of the Ring where Boromir could not—without bitterness. 

But Faramir, potentially, like Malcolm, had yearned for his father's affection and approval. The realization that he would never receive it had come after Boromir's death. Denethor, likely fueled by his grief and the corruption of the Palantir, had finally spoken outright of his disdain for his surviving son, admitting that he wished Faramir had died instead. He even ordered Faramir to lead an impossible mission. One last time, Faramir outwardly asked for his approval: "But if I should return, think better of me!" Denethor made it clear his approval was conditional: "That depends on the manner of your return."# 

Faramir, for his part, was devastated to the point of accepting his suicide mission. Gandalf tried to buoy him up: "Your father loves you, Faramir, and will remember it ere the end." He was right. Denethor did remember but only when his last surviving son appeared to be dead or dying. He fell into madness and Gandalf had to save Faramir from his father. He then awaited the coming of the king after the grand battle. Aragorn healed him of the illness known as the Black Breath, which came from close contact with a Nazgul. He met the similarly healed E'owyn in the Houses of Healing and went on to a happy ending as Steward of Gondor under his new king. 

Faramir was definitely a better fit for Malcolm. But it didn't appear that his father would remember his love for his son. Malcolm had been dying and the elder Reed still had disdain for his son. Given, he was perhaps fueled by grief as Denethor was. But this had to go deeper and further back. Had Malcolm, like Faramir, never received his father's affection or had something caused the rift between them. Was it that secret hurt Trevon had sensed? 

There, he was at the address. He hesitated to ring the chime on the door. It had been a late night in this household and someone may still be sleeping. So he tried a subtler approach. _Commander Tucker. It is Dr. Trevon. I am outside your door._

"Oh, wow. Never had this happen before, well, except.... But anyway, it's probably a good thing. Miguel's asleep on the couch. I'll be right there." 

A moment later, the door opened to reveal a somewhat disheveled Commander Tucker. "Come on in," he whispered. "And call me Trip." 

"Ah yes, I forgot," Trevon whispered back. A young man with a slightly darker complexion was sleeping on the sofa in the main room. The aforementioned Miguel. Dr. MacCormack had told him a relation of Trip's was a home health nurse. So he had probably stayed up the night with Malcolm. 

Trip led him first into the kitchen and quietly introduced his parents as Charles and Elaine Tucker. 

"Would you like some coffee, Dr. Trevon?" Elaine offered. 

"Thank you, but, please, I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other. Leave the 'doctor' off and just call me Trevon." 

"Please, have a seat," Trip said, pulling out a chair. So Trevon sat and Elaine set a steaming mug in front of him. "I'm glad you could come so soon." 

"What have I missed?" Trevon asked. "How has he been?" 

"Catatonic?" Trip guessed. "He never said a word, just stared and looked pitiful. But he was kind of pliant. He stood when I stood him up, walked where I led him. He let us change his wet clothes. Then he curled up in bed. He hasn't moved or even closed his eyes all night." 

"He did speak to me once," Trevon admitted. "Last night while you were collecting his things. He told me he wasn't Sam. Instead he was Faramir. Are you familiar with this character?" 

"Kinda," Trip replied. "We watched the movies on the ship before the crash. He was Boromir's brother." 

"Oh, I remember," Elaine spoke up. "He broke my heart. The way his father treated him." 

"It seems a fitting analogy," Trevon surmised, "but I'd be interested to know what you've seen or heard about Malcolm's feelings in regards to his father." 

Trip pondered the question for a moment. He seemed puzzled. "Malcolm's not the most forthcoming person when it comes to his private life. I know he said he wasn't particularly close with anyone in his family. He must not have meant Madeline. She left him everything in her will. Everything." 

Trevon considered this. "It could be that she wasn't allowed to show her affection for her brother. There's a lot we don't know yet. Anything else?" 

"I think I remember him slipping a remark here and there," Trip said, "about how he hoped his father would be proud of him. But I never heard if he was. I know that no one knew Malcolm's favorite food. Not his parents, Madeline, an uncle, a couple of aunts or a friend from the Academy." 

That was odd. So Malcolm's reticence to speak about himself reached into his family life. 

"That's not normal, right?" Trip asked. 

"Not in healthy families,' Trevon confirmed. "Anything else?" 

"That's about it," Trip answered. "Malcolm Reed is known on the ship as an enigma wrapped in a mystery. I'm his best friend but there's a lot I don't know about him." 

Trevon smiled. "And that didn't hamper your friendship?" 

Trip shook his head but then changed his mind. "Well, at first. We got stuck together in a shuttlepod. Comm went out in an asteroid field. We saw debris from _Enterprise_ and thought it was destroyed and then microsingularities—yeah, they're a thing—put holes in one of our oxygen tanks. We thought we were going to die out there. The first few days, he drove me nuts. I won't go into it because I don't think he'd appreciate it. But it was like he was droppin' pieces to his puzzle, too. Once I stopped bein' so selfish, I could see 'em. Long story short, we found a bottle of bourbon, got the comms fixed enough to hear _Enterprise_. So we were happy for about thirty seconds. Then we realized we'd be dead long before _Enterprise_ could reach us at their present speed. I lowered the temperature to use less oxygen. Malcolm had the idea to blow up the engine. Maybe the ship would see it and speed up. Eventually, we passed out. Woke up in Sickbay." He chuckled. "Nearly died of hypothermia. Still had a few hours of oxygen left. So really, _I_ nearly killed us. Anyway, after that, we were friends. He was still and enigma but it didn't matter anymore. I accepted him as he was." 

Trevon smiled in earnest. "You are a good friend, Trip. And I appreciate your respect for his privacy. From here on out, I will have to respect it as well. I may come to you for clarification at times before you leave, but what I learn from him will be between us, unless he divulges it himself." 

Trip nodded, as did his parents. "May I see him now?" Trevon asked. 

Trip stood. "I'll show you to him." Trevon stood and Trip led him back to the front room, then down a hall and to the first room on the right. It was quite dark in the room so Trip raised the lights somewhat. "You ever just read someone's mind?" Trip whispered. 

"Only in severe cases," Trevon responded in kind. 

"I think this might be one of those cases." 

"That will need to be determined," Trevon told him. "If I need that 'clarification', may I contact you telepathically?" 

Trip nodded. "Sure." He looked toward the bed then sighed. "I'll leave you to it. Good luck." He left the room and Trevon closed the door. 

There was a chair at the desk so Trevon pulled it over to the side of the bed and sat down. Malcolm was turned to face the wall. He gave no sign that he was aware anyone was in the room with him. 

"Malcolm," Trevon tried. "It's Trevon. I was hoping we could talk today. I know last night was very difficult for you. It's understandable. I'm very sorry for the loss of your sister, though I'm grateful to her for loving you enough to give her life for yours." 

Nothing. The only movement was the in and out of the blankets as he breathed. The movement was regular, so he wasn't crying. Trevon opened his mind to see if Malcolm was still projecting that deep sadness. But he felt no difference. It was almost like Malcolm wasn't there. 

Trip was right. This was one of those cases. He pulled a PADD from his pocket so that he could record notes or whatever clues he should find in Malcolm Reed's mind. Then he took a smaller device from a different pocket and attached it just behind his left ear. Once synchronized to the PADD, it would record any telepathic communications between therapist and client. He could telepathically dictate notes to annotate those communications. He synchronized the device then prepared himself. 

It was easier if he could look his patient in the face, but he focused on the back of Malcolm's head. Then slowly, he opened his barrier just a little but said nothing. And Malcolm was there. The PADD stayed blank. Not enough information yet. He went wider bit by bit until he could hear—and see—Malcolm's thoughts. 

While it outwardly appeared that Malcom had no thoughts, in truth, he was drowning in them. The PADD lit up with line after line of text in Betazedian. Trevon tried to annotate, to translate when he saw only images and or heard only voices. 

But the thoughts swirled so fast, tumbling over each other, so that he could only consciously catch a few at a time. There were images of a blonde girl at various ages. Madeline. Angry, demeaning messages from Stuart Reed, echoed by Mary Reed, though more softly. Meals at a table when Malcolm felt ill eating the food in front of him but choked down every bite. Water. Lots of water. Malcolm in water. And not swimming. More of the orcs and T-Rexes. Violent scenes. What must have been Baezhu's corpse disemboweled. Malcolm's execution. A blinding, burning, oppressive sun. Back to the white blonde hair of his sister and around and around it went. 

When Trevon had recorded for more than an hour, he slipped back out. The lines of data ceased on the PADD. Trevon scrolled up and scanned the whole thing, trying to sort as best he could. Family memories, Zheiren memories. Drowning memories. He tried to infer ages, if humans and Betazoids developed similarly. Madeline at three or four, teenaged, a grown woman. 

_Do you know the age difference between Malcolm and Madeline, by chance?_ he asked Trip. 

"Four years," Trip replied. "Though he's a year older than he is, technically." 

_Thank you,_ Trevon cut the connection. So now if he could estimate Madeline's age, he could extrapolate Malcolm's in the thoughts of her. Harder to do with the parents. 

He opened the connection to Trip again. _Can you get background checks on his parents—and not read them?_

"I could try. Dr. MacCormack could probably order them after the outburst last night. Should I give her a call?" 

_Please do. It may help me to sort through my findings._

"Is he talking?" Trip sounded hopeful. 

_No, Trip. It's one of those cases._

"I'll give her a call." 

_Thank you,_ He closed the connection again. "I'm sorry I had to do that, Malcolm. But I understand now what's happening. You are spiraling through your hurts. You can't focus or speak of one because it leads to another and another and another. You've left me quite a puzzle. It will take me a little while to get through it. But once I do, I hope we can talk. I'll guide you. I'll ask you questions, lead you to one hurt at time. Please try and sleep. You need the rest. I'm staying just a short walk away. If ever you need me, you may call for me. Either by comm or by your telepathy. I will respond. I will come." 

He stood and replaced the chair. He was reasonably certain that Malcolm hadn't heard a word or even noticed the intrusion into his mind. Trevon left the room and returned to the kitchen. "I've done all I can today," he quietly told Trip and his parents. "I can tell you that he's in there. It's not that he's not thinking. His body is on automatic because his mind is too preoccupied with memories and thoughts. He is not aware of his surroundings." 

"I told 'em about Betazoids bein' telepaths," Trip admitted. "And that you don't go around readin' minds, except in severe cases." 

"Thank you," Trevon said. "It's so common on Betazed that I sometimes forget it's not here. I do not enjoy intruding in such a way. But I was able to glean a lot of information. I need to parse through it. Background checks on the parents may help me put some of it into context. And Trip, could you summarize what happened to Ensign Sato when she was separated from him?" 

Trip nodded. "MacCormack's on the background checks. I leave tomorrow. Any chance he'll be able to talk by then?" 

"I think he'll talk," Trevon said, "but it will be on his timetable. Right now, he can't. You might be able to feed him, as you said he was pliant. Your relation, Miguel, can perhaps help with that and other necessities. I'd like to speak to him when he wakes. You can contact me at any time. I'm staying within walking distance." 

Trip went to the comm. "What's the address?" 

Trevon told him and Trip added it to the contacts. "Call me if anything changes. I hope to return tomorrow morning, if that is amenable?" 

"Anytime," Charles said. "Just let one of us know you're at the door." 

"Thank you. It's very kind of you to take him in." 

"He's family," Elaine remarked. "He just doesn't know it yet." 

Trip smiled again. "That may be just what he needs in the end. I'll let myself out." 

* * *

Malcolm Reed had no sense of time as he lay in bed. He wasn't even so much aware he was in a bed except that his body, for the most part, was comfortable. Meaning that few parts of his physical body bothered making themselves known. His wrists were sore as were his ankles. There was a deep pain in his chest, however, and it anchored him to the mattress for countless hours. 

His thoughts boiled with images and voices, memories of his sister, the orcs, his father, the water, the torture, the fountain, the surgeries, the pond, the laboratory, the ocean, the desert, the tub of water and T'Rex's clawed hand on his neck. They played over and over, digging deeper and deeper in his memory to find forgotten scoldings and unremembered frowns, moments of terror that bled into each other. 

Over time, other parts of his body vied for his attention. His stomach, his bladder. The force of the memories and grief were such that he hadn't noticed either. Hours had passed until they became insistent. 

So Malcolm turned. He pushed the blankets off and found, to his surprise, that he wasn't cold. Why had there been a blanket? Had the orcs given up so soon? 

The room he was in was dark, the building quiet. No red lamps to heat the night. There was a small light off to his right so he sat and pushed himself up until he was standing. He moved toward the light. He found a restroom. So he could quiet one of those insistent needs. 

Once he'd done that, his stomach insisted he stay up. The orcs hadn't fed him. He dreaded what that meant. Memories of darkness and immense pain cancelled out all other thoughts, pausing the roiling litany for this one or six. His chest, his leg, his arm, his eye, his back, his head, his groin. 

When those memories subsided enough to let his father's voice chide him for not fighting back, Malcolm found himself on the cold floor of wherever he was. And he found his stomach fairly screaming its need for food. He pushed himself up onto his knees then used the sink beside him to stand again. He walked back into the room with the bed and noticed another light to his right. So he walked through a door. 

He was in a corridor, narrower than the ones he'd seen in the lab. More like home. He turned left, toward a lessening of the darkness. He could make out two sleeping forms in a larger room. The orcs were sleeping. He had to be quiet or he'd wake them. Maybe he could get out. He crept closer, using the wall for support and hoping they couldn't hear his father yelling back in that first room. 

More light to his right, another doorway, wider than the last. There was light beyond, not bright, but like the desert at night. He went through it and found a room bright with moonlight shining through a wide glass door. There was a table with many chairs and a hum of low-powered devices. He stopped walking as his memories tried to make sense of this place. 

"Malcolm?" 

A woman's voice. Not Madeline, not Mother. Not Hoshi. Someone rose behind him and he was afraid to turn. A hand on his shoulder, turned him gently. "Are you hungry?" 

It was as if the world had become silent. He couldn't hear his father, the orcs, any of it. Slowly the sounds of nature, birds and insects, filtered through the large glass door to his ears. 

He looked at the woman. She was older than he was, more Mother's age, but with more lines, dark circles under he eyes. She wore her hair in a pony-tail. She was wearing a robe over a gown and house slippers. He didn't recognize her. Or the room he was standing in. 

He took a moment to look around now that his eyes had fully adjusted to the relative light in the room. There was a stove and storage cabinets, an ice box or refrigerator. The table with its chairs. He was in a kitchen. A kitchen where? 

His voice was breathy when he finally used it. "Where—am—I?" 

The woman pulled out one of the chairs then took his hand and led him to it. "You're in my home. Trip's home. I'm his mother. Would you like me to make you something? Maybe some scrambled eggs?" 

Malcolm's stomach growled. "Please." Trip's home. 

She retrieved some items from the ice box and a dish to mix them. "I have trouble sleeping, too," she said. 

Trip's mother. Trip's sister. Dead. Her daughter. Dead. Elizabeth. Dead. Madeline. Dead. The pain in his chest came roaring back as the memory slammed into him. Madeline was dead. 

"And for what?" Father was back. "If you hadn't needed a heart, she would be alive. It's your fault!" 

Malcolm closed his eyes, wishing for the silence, the birds and insects. 

A hand touched his arm. "Here, eat. You'll feel better." 

He opened his eyes to find a plate with yellow, scrambled eggs in front of him. The steam warmed his face. There was a glass of milk, too. He lifted the fork from the plate, but his father's voice behind him caused his hand to shake, and he dropped it. 

"We ought to have been with you by now," he harangued. "So many opportunities to rid us of your disgrace." 

"It's alright," she said, picking up the fork. She scooped up a bit of the eggs and put the fork back in his hand. She helped him hold it steady as he brought it to his lips. 

"Look at you!" his father spat. "You're weak. A Reed man would never let a stranger, especially a woman, see himself like this." 

He couldn't even taste the eggs as she helped him eat bite after bite until they were gone. It settled his stomach, which left the pain dominant. His throat hurt, making it hard to swallow. 

"I know grief," she said. "You don't have to hide it from us, from me." 

He looked across the table and, for just a moment, he saw Madeline smile at him. He felt a hand on his back, but it wasn't his father. It was gentle, soothing. He looked at the woman, Trip's mother. The words came out before he could hold them back. "I think I'm losing my mind," he whispered to her. 

She scooted her chair closer and let her arm reach around to his other shoulder. "Well, this is a safe place to do it." She smiled, then pulled the glass closer. "Have some milk." She wrapped his hand around the glass and helped him lift it. 

He drank half then sat it on the table. She stood and helped him stand, then led him by the hand to a bench set into the wall. She sat and pulled him down to sit beside her. "I have trouble sleeping sometimes, too," she said, without letting go of his hand. "Sometimes I dream of my daughter, and it feels so real, it wakes me up. Then I come here to sit and listen and remember." 

Malcolm didn't want to remember. Any of it. Not his father's voice, not his sister's death, not the orcs, not the water. He remembered Hoshi. He wanted memories of her. He wanted her. But all the other memories crowded her out. And she was gone. Madeline was gone. Bayzhoo was gone. His father glared at him from the table. 

"Do you mind if I tell you about her?" the woman asked. "She was beautiful. She had long, blonde hair, like her father's used to be. Albert has my dark hair. Trip is somewhere in the middle. But Lizzie's was all blonde. She was funny and loved telling jokes. We weren't surprised at all when she wanted to study architecture. She had just gotten her first real job as an architect." 

Madeline was an architect. Madeline was blonde. She liked telling jokes. Even if they weren't funny. 

The woman sighed. But then she started again. "Albert was maybe too old for her, but she latched on to Trip straight away. Whatever he was doing, wherever he was going, she wanted to tag along." 

Malcolm's eyes grew heavy as he listened to her voice. For a moment, he felt he could make it. It wasn't Hoshi, but her voice gave him something to hold onto. If he closed his eyes, he couldn't even see his father, and he felt safe. 

* * *

It felt good to remember Lizzie when she was young and vibrant. Memories she hadn't thought she still had came to her, and she found herself telling him another story. But she'd noticed when he'd closed his yes. A little while later, his body had relaxed and he'd nodded forward. She caught him and gently pulled him towards her, so that his head ended up on her shoulder. 

She smiled. When she spoke again, she lowered her volume. "Well, at least one of us can sleep. I think you need it more than I do." 

Then she told him another story. Or she told herself. It didn't really matter, as long as he was peaceful. She thought maybe her stories had kept his demons at bay. And something good had come from her own sleeplessness. 

As she spoke she could see Lizzie and Trip chasing each other around the kitchen table as kids while she cooked at the stove. 

"Gracie?" The voice surprised her. She opened her eyes to bright light beyond the glass door on the other side of the kitchen. Charlie stood beside her in his robe and slippers. She turned her head to see Malcolm still there asleep. Her arm felt odd and tingly. He looked so peaceful she didn't want to wake him, but she needed some circulation in her arm. She tried opening and closing her fist a few times but it was no use. 

Charlie had that look on his face that told her he was thinking, with his lips pressed to one side. "Think he'll want breakfast?" he whispered. 

She nodded her head toward the table where the plate and probably warm milk still stood. "He had a little," she whispered back. 

"Not like we can pick him up and carry him back to bed." 

She smiled remembering doing that with the kids. But Malcolm was not one of those. "Maybe Trip can coax him back there. Hopefully, he can get back to sleep." 

Charlie nodded and left the kitchen. She heard him waking Trip in the living room. Not two minutes later, they were back. 

Trip bent down and kissed her forehead then turned to his friend. He put out a hand to touch Malcolm's other shoulder, but Malcolm bolted upright and his expression scared Elaine. His sleep had been anything but peaceful. He was terrified. 

Trip grabbed his shoulder, touched his face. "It's okay. You're safe." Malcolm's hands had gone to his chest, like he expected it to burst open. How invasively had he been studied? she wondered. 

Malcolm's breathing calmed. The initial terror was gone but now, in the light she could see that he was gone again. He looked around like he didn't know where he was. Maybe he was right and he was losing his mind. She hoped the therapist could help him. She wanted to think he could heal here. 

He seemed to trust Trip and stood. Trip walked him out of the kitchen. Charlie waited until they were down the hall. "I'll get breakfast going. How long was he here?" 

"It was dark," Elaine told him. "Couldn't see the clock." She could now. It was 6:43. And she remembered Trip had to leave today. 

* * *

Despite the abrupt waking, Malcolm still seemed tired when Trip got him back to the still rather dark bedroom. But Malcolm didn't go right back to sleep. So Trip pulled the chair close. 

"You're safe here, Malcolm," he said. "Mom and Dad are going to make sure of that. Miguel is here to help you stay healthy. Your parents don't know you're here. They won't know. You can be a part of my family now. It'll be different than what you're used to, I think. But I'm sure you'll get the hang of it." 

Malcolm didn't say anything or even give him any way of knowing that he'd understood. The only difference from yesterday was that his eyelids were heavy and kept trying to close. 

Trip realized now why Malcolm kept forcing them open. The terror he'd seen on his friend's face, the way he'd clutched his chest, had told him that Malcolm hadn't been sleeping peacefully. He guessed Malcolm had been dreaming he was paralyzed. And being cut open. 

"I wish I could help you have better dreams," he told Malcolm. Malcolm had been awake for the better part of forty-eight hours now. That couldn't be helping his mental state. But neither could nightmares like that. And maybe they were more terrifying or vivid now because of the state he was in. 

"I wish you'd talk to me." He remembered the letter he'd seen addressed to Hoshi. "I have to leave today. To go back to _Enterprise._ I want to tell Hoshi that you're okay. That you're healing. You were. And I gotta hope you will again, but we won't know until the mission's over and we can come back here." 

Nothing. Trip had really hoped that Malcolm night-time walk to the kitchen and falling asleep on his mother's shoulder had meant some sort of breakthrough, that Malcolm was coming back from the brink or at least further away from catatonic. Maybe a few more hours of sleep, however that went, would get him back to at least some level of lucidity. 

Hoshi and he had told each other stories to help them through their respective horrors. So Trip thought it was worth a try. "Did I ever tell you what it was like for me growing up? I'm a middle kid. Not the oldest and not the baby." So he told Malcolm about Albert and what it was like when it was just the two of them. Then when Lizzie was born and how he'd been disappointed she wasn't a boy. Though not for long. 

By the time he'd gotten to some of their epic games out in the yard with the other kids from the neighborhood, Malcolm's eyes were closed. Trip ran his fingers through his hair. He was certain he still had bed head. Dad had woken him up and brought him right to the kitchen. He thought about using the bathroom here but didn't want to wake Malcolm with the noise. So he quietly left the room and went to the one in the hall. It was 0730 when he made it back to the kitchen, where Mom and Dad had cooked a big breakfast. There was toast, eggs, ham, pancakes, milk and juice. 

Trip sat down and started filling up his plate. Miguel stood, having just finished his. "How is he in there?" 

Trip sighed. "Kind of like yesterday except he's asleep this time." 

"That's good," Mom commented. "He needs it." 

"Yeah, but what he's dreaming," Trip replied, shaking his head. How much should he tell them, and at breakfast? "What they did to him in that lab, it was horrendous. As scared as he was when he woke up, I gotta think he's dreaming it. I hate leaving him like this." 

"Maybe you should ask Starfleet to let you stay," Dad suggested. 

"Tempting, but there's the other side of it." He washed some of the food down with some orange juice. "I have to get back to Hoshi. I promised her I'd take care of him. And I promised him I'd take care of her when I got back. I was looking forward to telling her that he was healing and getting better. But now?" 

"When do you leave?" Mom asked. 

"This afternoon," Trip said. "I'm supposed to be at Starfleet Headquarters at 1600." 

"Dr. Perez wanted to see him," Miguel said. "I told her I didn't think it was safe to move him right now. So she's coming here. Malcolm had surgery just a week ago. He's got to be in serious pain." 

The comm system in the kitchen chirped. Miguel was still up so he answered it. Trip recognized Trevon's voice. "Is it too early for me to come over?" 

Trip stood and met Miguel at the comm. He's asleep and we're having breakfast. Give us about thirty minutes then we can fill you in on last night when you get here." 

"That will be fine. See you in thirty minutes." The call blinked off. Trip went back to the table and Miguel left to check on Malcolm. 

By the time Trevon got there, the table was cleared but Trip's parents were still sitting there with cups of coffee. Trip brought Trevon in and offered him a cup. 

"Thank you, but I have yet to develop a taste for it. I find tea more to my liking, but don't bother. I've had some already before coming. May I sit?" 

"Of course," Mom answered. 

"So tell me," Trevon said, "what happened last night?" 

Trip deferred to his mother. She'd been the only one up. 

"I sometimes have trouble sleeping," she told him. "So I come in here to sit." She indicated the bench set into the wall behind Trip. "I hadn't been there long when Malcolm walked in. He stopped at the door and looked very confused. He asked where he was. I could barely hear him. I told him and made him some scrambled eggs. His hand shook so much he could barely hold the fork, so I helped him. Got him to drink a little milk. He kept looking like he was seeing or hearing someone else, too. He said he was afraid he was losing his mind. I told him it was a safe place for it. I had him sit beside me and I told him about our Lizzie. As I told him stories, he fell asleep. He started to nod over so I pulled him to my shoulder." 

"Dad found them over there this morning," Trip added, picking up the story. "I touched him on the shoulder and he jerked awake, but he was terrified. I could see it in his face. He clutched his chest. I think he was dreaming about what happened on Sharu. I took him back to his room, figured stories worked with him and Hoshi, and now Mom, so I told him stories and he finally went back to sleep after the better part of an hour." 

"So he's asleep now?" Trevon asked and Trip nodded. 

"Miguel says Dr. Perez is coming over to check on him." 

"It's good that she's coming here," Trevon confirmed. He paused for a moment, thinking. "I hate to wake him now that he's actually asleep." He looked to Mom. "I would guess that his biological needs got him out of that bed. Otherwise, he hasn't eaten or drank anything?" 

"No," Trip answered. "First words he spoke since comin' here, too." 

"Then it was good you got some nourishment in him," Trevon said. "I'll want to talk to Perez when she arrives." 

* * *

Trevon didn't have to wait long. Dr. Esmeralda Perez was young, perhaps in her thirties, with short-cropped brown hair and eyes to match. She came with several cases and a couple nurses to carry them. 

"You must be Dr. Trevon," she said, holding out her hand to him. She had a heavy accent, which he'd learned was regional. 

"Dr. Perez, I presume," he replied as he shook her hand. 

"A telepath, huh?" She smiled. "I never met one before." 

_Well, you'll meet two today,_ he thought. "I've met more than I can count," he answered, smiling in kind. 

"What's your take on Lt. Reed's mental state?" she asked, getting right down to businesses. 

"He's severely traumatized and basically stuck in a cycle of flashbacks. He found out that his sister died to give him his new heart, and not in a helpful manner. And there's the year that put him in the condition to need a new heart." 

Perez sighed. "Yeah, I got to read those notes. So what we need to determine is his physical state and how much of his pain is physical and how much is emotional. I'd think you wouldn't want him so drugged up you couldn't work with him." 

Trevon nodded. "It would be counter-productive, but I don't want him to suffer needlessly either. That surgery was a week ago. I can guarantee he's in physical pain." 

Perez sat down on the sofa so Trevon sat in one of the armchairs nearby. "So I've been thinking," she said. "We want something local with minimal intrusion." One of the nurses handed her a case. She put it in her lap, opened it and withdrew what looked like tan papers. "Time release patches. We used these a century ago for various things like birth control or smoking cessation. We can get them under his bandages so long as we can get in there and change them. They should be good for up to a week. We'll want to reassess dosage by then anyway." 

"The fact that you are female might make it easier," Trevon said. "There were no females where he was held during that year. That made a difference before he found out about his sister and entered this state. He seems to have tolerated Miguel Tucker, here." 

"I was able to rebandage his wrists and ankles the night he arrived," Miguel said, speaking up from his spot in the doorway the kitchen. 

Perez regarded him. "Well, then maybe between you, me, and Nancy here we can get his chest, too. Sorry, Nikita, you'll have to stay out here." 

Miguel looked to the other male nurse. "Mom's got pecan pie in the fridge." He pointed his thumb over his shoulder toward the kitchen. 

"Well, now I'm jealous," Perez said. "I do hate to wake him as I've been told he didn't sleep since he got here." 

"Not until very early this morning," Trevon agreed. "Perhaps you should let me try." He tapped a finger to his forehead. He stood and started down the hall, waving for her to follow. He stopped at the door and opened his barrier, expecting the flood of cascading memories and thoughts. But there was only one scene. Trip had been right. 

Malcolm was screaming in his mind. Trevon couldn't see anything but he felt his back was on fire with lacerations and fingers reaching in. It took his breath away. He had to put a hand against the door to steady himself. 

"You okay?" Perez asked. 

Trevon raised his other hand. He tried Malcolm's trick. A console. He pulled one to mind, labelled the controls and shut off Tactile. The pain began to fade. The screaming remained. "He has horrible nightmares," he explained to the doctor. 

_Malcolm,_ he tried. _You're not there anymore. You're on Earth. You're safe."_

The screaming stopped. 

_Open your eyes. You're lying in a soft bed, in a bedroom in a house. Trip's house. You're safe._

Now the memories came and the cascade began. Trevon closed the connection. "He's awake." Then he had another thought. _Trip, perhaps you should come and introduce the doctor._

Trip dutifully sidestepped into the hall and motioned the doctor into the room. Trevon followed and stood in the corner by the door, out of the way. 

"Malcolm, this is Dr. Perez," Trip told him. "She's gotta check you out. Think you could sit up for her?" Malcolm was pliant as Trip did most of the lifting until Malcolm was seated. Trip then beckoned the two nurses in. "That's Miguel. You've already met him. And Nancy here, is a nurse, too." 

"Hello, Malcolm," Dr. Perez said. Malcolm didn't even look at her. She looked to Trevon. 

_He's compliant,_ he told her telepathically. _That may be as good as you'll get for now._

She turned back to her patient and scanned him. "You're dehydrated," she told him, "but your wounds are healing well enough. We do need to change your bandages, however. Would you mind if your friend steps out so we can do it quickly?" 

Trip's expression was troubled but Trevon surmised that was more due to Malcolm's state than being told to leave. Trevon followed him out. They stopped in the hall to wait. It wasn't long. The doctor emerged and met them there while the nurses finished up. 

"The patches should be begin to work in the next fifteen minutes," Perez told them, keeping her voice low. "When the pain subsides, he may come back." 

"The patches can't stop all the pain," Trevon commented. " Emotional pain is my department. Still, it's likely to help." 

She nodded. "It would be good if you could get him to eat, drink some liquids. Meet in the middle and try some soup." 

"He did get himself up last night," Trevon replied. "Could be that he'll notice clues like hunger more when that pain subsides." 

"I'd like to see him at the hospital for physical therapy in a few weeks. But I can see that's a big ask at the moment." 

Trip showed her to the front room again, and Trevon went inside to wait the fifteen minutes with Malcolm. The latter was lying down again, facing into the room, which was more helpful than facing the wall. By the sleeve on his upper arm, he could see that his night-clothes had been changed as well. 

Trevon pulled the chair closer so that Malcolm was in reach. He had an idea that might allow Malcolm to stop his cascade and hold his attention. 

Malcolm visibly relaxed as the minutes ticked by. He had been so still that Trevon had not thought him tense. The patches were apparently working. 

_Malcolm, do you hear me?_ He eased open the barrier to listen in on Malcolm's thoughts without being bombarded by them. Malcolm turned his eyes toward Trevon for just a moment before they lost focus and moved to another part of the room. 

He had gotten the background reports from Dr. MacCormack yesterday evening, and Trevon now had some inkling of how bad things had gotten between Malcolm and his father. But he didn't understand why. For that he needed to know Malcolm. Not the Malcolm that survived his time on Sharu, but that twelve-year-old Malcolm who had lost the love of his father. 

_Malcolm,_ he began again, _I know I told you it's better if you speak. But if you can't speak with your voice, speak with your mind. And if you can't do that, you can show me._

And things changed. The cascade of memories had slowed to more coherent thoughts running from one trauma to another. Water was the most common of them. But he could now also see what Malcolm was seeing in the room. An old man harangued him from the corner by the door. His father. A pretty blonde woman, probably his sister, showed up now and then. The orcs strode past the door, occasionally looking in. 

Malcolm Reed was out of time again. Not physically as he had been in the crash but in his mind. So Trevon tried something he usually wouldn't. As a rule, he did not touch his patients. Most wouldn't have taken well to such intimate connection. 

But Malcolm needed an anchor. So Trevon took hold of Malcolm's exposed left hand. _This is real. This is now. We're on Earth, in the Tucker family home. You are safe here._

It silenced the father, though it didn't banish him completely. The orcs disappeared from the hallway though. 

_Malcolm, I think it's time you shared that secret hurt, the one your father used against you._

The cascade stopped, the father vanished. Trevon could still see the bed with Malcolm in it, the curtains on the window behind the bed, but he could also see a schoolyard under a partly-cloudy sky. His viewpoint was closer to the ground than Trevon was used to. He was walking past a building, and somehow, he knew it as Grayton Hall. He could hear the Tuckers quietly speaking in the kitchen. But he could also hear a child crying not too far away, and, louder than that, the unmistakable, gleeful laughter of others tormenting that child. 

The vision from Malcolm froze. Trevon knew that if they moved forward, their shadow would give their presence away. _But they're tormenting one of the other boys,_ young Malcolm thought. _If I run to get a teacher, they'll be gone by the time I get back._ That the older Malcolm could share all this detail in memory and even his thoughts within that time was astounding. 

Then young Malcolm looked back. At the side of a cottage there was a gardening implement. A rake. Trevon felt the younger Malcolm's trepidation but he also felt proud of Malcolm for his own part. "Let him go!" Malcolm yelled as they rounded the corner, brandishing the rake. And Trevon knew the actors in front of him. Victor Renslow, the victim from a form below him. Leslie Morris, the ring-leader. Terrance Bishop and Gerald Balinsweel, the henchmen. Bullies were universal. 

" _Getoffofhim!_ " Malcolm shouted. The words rushed out in one long burst as his fear met his determination. 

"Get out of here, fish-boy," Leslie spat. "Before we make you sorry you turned up here." 

The name-calling meant nothing, didn't cut the way Leslie wanted. But Trevon didn't miss the venom with which it was spoken. "No you get out of here." The rake swung in Malcolm's hands, and Trevon wondered that he felt that swing as if Malcolm had used his arms. 

One of the henchmen, Terrance, backed away, which loosed the victim's arms. Young Malcolm moved forward and swung again. "Move off." 

On the third swing, dangerously close to Leslie's face, had the desired effect. He got off the younger boy. "You've just made a big mistake, fish-boy." 

"I don't care, Leslie," Malcolm said and Trevon felt the young man's pride match his own. Victor scrambled to sit up and spat out the mud and gravel. "Are you alright, Victor?" Malcolm asked. But neither he nor Trevon missed the other henchman throw something. 

Trevon felt the sharp pain in the side of his own head, felt the dizziness even as he was still sitting in the chair. But young Malcolm had closed his eyes and only swirls of colors were superimposed on the room. Still, young Malcolm swung, but to the side so as not to hit Victor. 

With a shout, they were on him, and Trevon felt the blows, wanted to curl up just as he sensed young Malcolm was doing. On and on it went until Trevon felt them lift his arms and drag him forward to somewhere. His whole body felt heavy and sore. He couldn't see where they were taking them. and the voices of the bullies seemed to come from far away. 

Then cold engulfed his head. Trevon felt Malcolm's hand tighten on his own with strength born of panic. He looked to his patient, focusing more on the reality of him than the memory. Still he knew where young Malcolm was, and that he could not push off his attackers. Malcolm on the bed began to shake, to try and push himself back to the wall. He'd closed his eyes tight against the memory. 

Young Malcolm's eyes opened, and Trevon saw the concrete bottom of a pool or fountain. Fountain. His instinct was to hold his, breath but he was aware enough not to do so. Malcolm, his patient, however, was not. He was drowning. 

Trevon put his other hand on Malcolm's quaking shoulder and tightened his own grip on Malcolm's hand. _This_ he reminded him, _this is real. This is now. You are safe. I see it. Let it go. Come back._

And then he heard a woman's voice. "It's the air," she purred. "It's hurting you. Let it go." 

"Stop," Trevon told him and used his voice. "It's over. I understand." Malcolm's other hand reached out grab their joined ones and slowly, the shaking stopped, the vision faded. Trevon left the chair to kneel in front of Malcolm. "They drowned you. This is why you're aquaphobic. Someone must have saved you." 

Flashes of moments came to his mind. Coughing out the water, a woman beside him. Medics lifting him on a gurney, a hospital room, coughing some more. Malcolm's parents at his bedside, worried looks on their faces. A doctor's words. Pneumonia. A news program. "...could not positively identify the attackers." 

Trevon found that odd, considering that Malcolm—and likely Victor—could have identified them. Perhaps Malcolm had still be in the hospital, too sick to answer investigators' questions. Maybe Victor had been too scared.## 

The images stopped. Trevon could see that Malcolm was exhausted. The memory of his first drowning had taken a lot from him. Trevon still didn't understand how Malcolm's assault had changed his relationship with his father. How had the anguished father at his bedside turned into the criminal Trevon had found in the background check? 

Trevon gently pulled his hands back. He stood and adjusted the blankets over Malcolm. "I'll let you rest. Then you should try to eat something." 

He left the room and found Trip in the kitchen with his parents and Miguel. "Perhaps you can sit with him for a bit," he suggested to the engineer. "It was a difficult session, but important." 

Trevon could see the urge to ask questions in Trips eyes, but he sighed and left the table for Malcolm's room. "I'm hoping he'll eat something after he rests some more," Trevon told the others. "I think I could use a break as well. Perhaps I can return in the afternoon?" 

"Of course," Mr. Tucker replied. Trevon let himself out. 

* * *

# Quotes from _The Lord of the Rings_ by J.R.R. Tolkien, Houghton Miffline Company, 1994, p 798-799   
## As told much better in the novel _Last Full Measure_ by Michael A Martin and Andy Mangels, Pocket Books, 2006, New York, pages 146-150. 


End file.
